Insomnia Has Its Perks
by ForeverJynxed
Summary: Harry Potter hasn't had a good night's sleep since the war. Severus Snape just wants to sleep. They find they may be the answer to each other's problems, the help the other needs, and that… insomnia has its perks. "8th yr" HP/SS
1. A Little Night Reading

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own or even claim to EVER own anything related to Harry Potter or its affiliates. It all belongs to Jo Rowling and the rights are still the sole property of WB and Scholastic and whatever other companies are in charge of distributing HP books, movies and whatnot. I am only a simple fangirl who had an idea and felt the need to write it down and share it with other fangirls who are of similarly-minded types.**

**Oh, and, in case that one didn't get the gist across: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING! Only the laptop on which this was written and a slight case of insomnia. XD**

_Warning: This will eventually become Snarry, so for those of you who either look down upon this or things such as this make you uncomfortable or go against personal beliefs, or who just don't think this is okay in any way shape or form, you may now click away from this story and go either read the actual books or find a fic that you find a tad more suitable to you._

_Many wonderful wishes to those who must click away, and, don't worry, I still love you._

… _just not as much as the ones who will read and review this. XD_

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><p><strong>Insomnia Has Its Perks<strong>

Chapter 1: A Little Night Reading

A man sat in his "living room," sighing and cracking open yet another book.

There was something to be said about reading a good book at night. It relaxes a person, puts their mind at ease. Books transport the mind to a world that is either different from the reader's own or full of wonderful facts and things to learn. The book of the dark haired man sitting in his favorite chair's was of the latter variety.

The man groaned a bit at a crick that had formed in the side of his neck, right above where his new scar blazed. Two gnarled punctures were just visible above the collar of his uncharacteristic t-shirt. T-shirts were, to him, one of the few things leftover from his days growing up in the muggle world that he actually enjoyed.

The collar, very unlike his normal button-down shirts, also helped to not irritate his wound after the war, when the holes in his neck had still refused to close up entirely.

The only setback was how, well, _fucking cold_ it got at night in his rooms. Come wintertime he knew that not even the roaring fire in his fireplace would be enough to stem the cold. He would jump that particular hurtle when he came to it, though, seeing as how it was only late September.

Breathing in the pleasant (to him, anyway) smell of "old book," the man sat back, still slightly unconvinced his ruse would work on his body that night. Assured that his plan would merely backfire and leave him hanging. Yet again.

For, the longhaired man was hoping that fate, the universe, Merlin, Giant Spaghetti Monster, whatever he had to hope to, would afford him the comfort that books usually do, especially at night. **Sleep.**

This was something that had been eluding him for the better part of two years now, more pronounced lately than years before due to… extenuating circumstances. He would nap, certainly, lie in bed and get a wink or two of sleep, but a true, restful night's sleep was as out of his reach as being able to undo what he had been forced to do in his previous twenty-some odd years. And about as likely as a reset button appearing in front of him.

There is something also to be said about a man who is unable to sleep. Whether it is due to pain, guilt, too much on his mind, or even some combination of the three, sleeplessness leads to several severe consequences.

A shortened temper, for instance. For someone with an already "Grenade with the pin pulled out" standard for aggression, this can be quite the downside, particularly when choosing how to let out said anger. As cathartic as it may be to him, snipping at eleven year-olds isn't usually considered a healthy way to spend one's spare time.

It can also result in a lessened attention span or lethargy. Both of which are rather hazardous to a man's job or vocation, specifically the job of a man such as this sleepy one's.

He would deny it if asked, but, about a week prior, his inability to sleep had resulted in one of the more memorable explosions in his classroom. A third year Hufflepuff was still tinged slightly purple due to his lighting-fast reflexes being likened more to those of a flobberworm nowadays. _At least it was only a Hufflepuff,_ he thought, stubbornly, bringing his wandering thoughts back to his task at hand.

The man thought he heard a noise outside of his door but, being prone to hearing things at night, mainly due to insomnia and an overall overly paranoid personality, didn't bother to check. _It isn't my job to protect anyone in the damn school anymore_, he thought. Rather often, actually. He only thought it, though, for someone would begin to worry if they heard the way his voice expressed how much he… relished the thought.

No, it was not his job to protect anyone. As nobody he once had obligations to assure the safety of needed his help any longer. They had a savior, and their savior didn't need the dark man to save him. Not since the war. Not that the man was bitter about his reason for living having been solved, taken away from him, and therefore leaving him stranded up a creek without a paddle or reason to not just allow himself to be pulled wherever the tide may take him.

Not bitter at all. Just a man who needs purpose and a focus to his life who suddenly found himself without one. A man trying to keep himself together, not for anyone's sake but his own. A man alone and no longer needed by another person, who seemed even too stubborn to die when he had the chance handed to him on a silver platter.

Much too short a time later, the words and diagrams the book contained did nothing to calm or lessen this man's racing mind. Sighing yet again, he set aside his book, careful to not damage it. However satisfying it may have been to send it sailing at the nearest wall, him being more than a tad miffed with the inanimate object at the moment, he held back.

He needed a more… inventive way to trick or tire his body into sleeping. Not feeling like running laps around the Quidditch Pitch like he did in his school years (when he could get away with it), he needed to supplement something new in for the same old tricks.

He decided with as much of an inward cringe as it was an outward one, that it may be time to take a leaf out of the trouble-maker handbook and use the quiet of the castle and the act of roaming its halls at night to calm himself. He might even catch a few students out of bed if he was lucky. _This may be worth it after all,_ he thought with a smirk.

Grabbing his cloak and putting it on, not wanting anyone to see him in his muggle attire (that and a t-shirt isn't nearly as intimidating as his carefully thought out "student-catching cloak" was), he placed his wand securely in the inner pocket of the cloak that was specially reserved for the wonderful instrument and opened his door. He took a breath, getting into the mood for stalking around the school, took a step into the hallway, and went to start the rest of his already too long night.

There, he found the reason it would seem even more interminably long.

For there, ten feet from the entrance to his quarters, just at the bottom of a flight of dungeon stairs, Severus Snape found Harry Potter lying on his back, arm bent in a way that arms should never bend, with his invisibility cloak, parchment and wand strewn around him, eyes closed and… fast asleep.

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><p>AN: Okay, so… this is the first thing I've posted on here. I am so completely nervous about it so here's hoping I'm not just embarrassing myself on here. Haha. Though, honestly, it was the idea of Snape having a "Student Catching Cloak" that made me giggle enough to actually post this. Haha.<p>

I really hope that someone reads it and at least enjoys it enough to leave me a tiny review.

Though, before reviewing, keep this in mind: Flames will be laughed at and possibly passed around amongst my friends and myself purely for our own enjoyment. ;D Just thought I would warn you ahead of time.


	2. Falling Into Sleep

DISCLAIMER: I do not own or even claim to EVER own anything related to Harry Potter or its affiliates. It all belongs to Jo Rowling and the rights are still the sole property of WB and Scholastic and whatever other companies are in charge of distributing HP books, movies and whatnot. I am only a simple fangirl who had an idea and felt the need to write it down and share it with other fangirls who are of similarly-minded types.

**Oh, and, in case that one didn't get the gist across: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING! Only the laptop on which this was written and a slight case of insomnia. XD**

**Insomnia Has Its Perks**

Chapter 2: Falling Into Sleep

"Shit!" was the last thing Harry Potter remembered saying before plummeting head first down a flight of stone stairs, in what he vaguely acknowledged as he fell to be somewhere in the dungeons.

Harry hadn't managed to get a full night's sleep since the night after ending the war. One pure, long day and night of sleeping with no dreams and no worries was all he was afforded before it all changed. Helping with rebuilding the school and the funerals of his loved ones, he barely found time to sleep. A fact that he was perfectly fine with, and threw himself into any work he could find because of it.

Since allowing Hermione to convince him and Ron- though Ron needed no convincing as he agreed immediately out of a pure, carnal fear of his girlfriend- to return to Hogwarts to "earn" the NEWTs that the Ministry had offered them after their defeat of the homicidal maniac plaguing the Wizarding World, Harry had been finding it even more difficult to find ways to avoid sleeping.

Not that he didn't like sleeping, he in fact loved it more than anything else at the moment. No, it was what accompanied sleeping that he hated, feared, and wanted nothing to do with. So, during the silent, empty nights at Hogwarts, in order to avoid that particular activity, he would indulge in his best known past-time: grabbing the Marauder's Map and wandering the halls of the castle he had come to call home.

What seemed like mere moments before, he had been doing his usual unseen nighttime skulking around the castle in lieu of sleep. Somewhere along the way, though, it seemed it became less skulking and more "sleep-walking." Next thing Harry knew, he would become aware of being in several different places in the minutest amount of time, as if he had been Apparating around the castle.

It was right as Hermione's exasperated voice rang out, almost sighing in his head, and reminded him, for the millionth time, that you can't Apparate inside Hogwarts, that he became aware that he was asleep and jolted awake. … mid-step on a staircase.

Harry had been afraid the volatile combination of no sleep and walking familiar paths that he could maneuver in, say, _his sleep_ would wind up coming back to bite him in the arse one day. He just never realized it would use the corner of a stone step to do exactly that.

Slip, bounce, bounce, claw, grunt, helpless, hopeless attempt to steady himself, stop his fall or at least lessen his momentum, scrape, CRACK, thud, mumbled expletive,

Silence.

Harry dreamt. He realized he was dreaming yet was too exhausted to realize what it could mean.

He was in a graveyard. It was one he had been in before, and, looking to his right, he knew what he would find before he saw it. He had been there so many times in his sleep.

As he turned toward it, a tall, red-eyed figure stepped out from behind a giant headstone. No, it wasn't a headstone anymore, it was a monument. The same one that now lay in front of Hogwarts school to commemorate the fallen from the war.

No. Not the same. The snake-eyed, noseless man, breathing in through the slits in the middle of what could only be skeptically called his face, motioned that he come closer. Come to inspect the stone.

Against his will, his feet moved forward, toward the now smirking echo of a man.

The stone, far from the Phoenix engraved symbol of hope and good and love that Harry first thought it to be, was instead a giant, coiled snake. A perfect replica of Nagini, the pet of the red-eyed, soul-torn creature next to him. On it was carved the name of every Death Eater that died in the war, every one of this man's army, his soldiers of death, along with their children, their family, and the others that died in their stead.

"You." The Dark Lord hissed, "You killed them. Each of them." Harry tried to shake his head, demand that he never killed anyone, make this bastard understand but, as usual, he couldn't so much as whimper.

"Just as surely as they killed yours, you killed mine. Killed them. Did they deserve to die? Aren't you preaching about second chances and love? Where was their second chance? They had people who loved them, too!" However strange the words were for that slit of a mouth to be yelling, to be hissing, they still pierced Harry with every syllable, because they had a point. As usual.

"You didn't save lives and families, you destroyed them! All for the sake of your 'Greater Good.' You and Dumbledore, the sacrificers of your PAWNS to protect who? The Wizarding World? No. Yourselves! You only wanted me out of your head. Wanted revenge for your parents and that bloody DOG! Revenge, not love, Not good, NOT what you swore to uphold!"

The graveyard changed, became the Great Hall as it was that night. As with the memorial, this was different. Bodies strewn everywhere, far from the order the war had.

Lord Voldemort stood amidst the piles of awkward bodies, all of whom had open, dead eyes trained at Harry, blaming him. His fallen friends, family, and even enemies, all were dead, all glaring at him in death. At Voldemort's feet lay the one whose death started the second war, the Archduke Franz Ferdinand of the Wizarding World, Cedric Diggory.

Cedric stared up at him, propped in a sitting position on Voldemort's shins. He looked at Harry, glaring, accusing.

"You killed me." The body's mouth never moved, but he heard him as clearly as if it had. Cedric's voice was ringing inside his head, drowning out his thoughts, reminding him of truths Harry would have preferred to forget. "If you had just done what I asked, taken that stupid cup when I told you, I would be alive! But nobody orders Harry Potter around, do they?" Harry tried to shake his head, apologize, scream, cry, something! But, as before, he could only stand there and take it. "You killed me. As sure as if you held the wand yourself-"

"You killed me. You KILLED ME! YOU KILLED ME!" Every body screamed it out at him, rising from their places on the floor, slowly walking toward where he stood, petrified, powerless, as powerless as he had been at Dumbledore's last moments, in the tower…

The Dark Lord Voldemort's high laughter echoed, chilling the helpless teenager. The dead overtook him, yelling, assuring him of his guilt in their deaths, and, as they began making him one of them, each holding a wand, wandtips all aimed at him, and yelling the same spell, the green light filled the hall-

He awoke.

Screaming.

… as usual.

AN: Wow! Already a Story Alert! I really hope this second chapter (which I had laying around so thought I might as well post) lives up to expectations. XD

Thank you to all who have read this or given it even a moment of their time. It is truly appreciated!

Again, THANKS! :D

-ForeverJynxed


	3. Struggles, Snapping & Dreamless Sleep

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own or even claim to EVER have owned anything related to Harry Potter or its affiliates. It all belongs to Jo Rowling and the rights are still the sole property of WB and Scholastic and whatever other companies are in charge of distributing HP books, movies and whatnot. I am only a simple fangirl who had an idea and felt the need to write it down and share it with other fangirls who are of similarly-minded types.**

**Oh, and, in case that one didn't get the gist across: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING! Only the laptop on which this was written and a slight case of insomnia. XD**

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><p>AN: Alrighty, everyone, first I would just like to say how much I appreciate you taking the time to read this! :D It makes me happier than a nargle in the mistletoe to see that anyone at all is reading this. :)<p>

Now, I will be the first to admit that this chapter… well, it got a tad out of hand. Now, I'm not saying that that's the worst thing ever just that… well, I started writing and somehow just couldn't stop. Thus, the rather extremely long chapter you see before you.

If the characters seem a tad… well, out of character, I beg you to keep in mind that sleep-deprivation does some crazy things to people, particularly when they have reached their limit of being able to deal with it.

I hope this lives up to any expectation you may have had, and if it doesn't then I feel the need to apologize. XP Remember, it's my first fic on here so I'm still learning the ropes. :D

So, as always, I wish you happy reading! See you in the AN at the end! XD

Cheers!

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><p><strong>Insomnia Has Its Perks<strong>

Chapter 3: Struggles, Snapping and a Dreamless Sleep

Severus Snape merely stared in shock.

On the list of things he would have expected to find outside of his door, this was surely not on it. Hell, he would have expected Voldemort's undead, zombified body coming back for revenge wearing a tutu and one of Albus' ridiculous hats before this.

One thing was for certain, Potter hadn't simply thought that corridor looked like a nice place to have a nap. "The dunderhead must have fallen," Snape growled to himself.

The odd thing was, he couldn't help but think about how, even a year earlier, he would have been happy to have seen this. To be able to take house points and give detention to the green-eyed, black-haired, 18 year old, walking annoyance and thorn in his side laying on the ground in front of him.

Right now, though? All he could manage to think was _How, precisely did Potter wind up there and why the hell, out of all of the staircases in the castle, did Potter have to choose _mine _to fall down?_

He was struggling with himself. Half of him wanted to just go back into his room, locking the door on his way, and pretend he hadn't seen a damned thing, maybe try to get some sleep. The other half? He shuddered at the thought. That half wanted to help him.

It was as he finally reached a sensible compromise, still wanting to leave the damned prat to his own devices, to go back inside and fire-call Poppy, that the silence of the hallway was shattered by an ear-splitting scream.

Snape jumped, going into "fight mode," and searched the hall for the source of the vile noise, his ears ringing. It took a few seconds for his eyes to settle on the ground in front of him where Potter, with a now obviously broken arm, was writhing on the ground, screaming and _still_ fast asleep.

Potter had fallen down a flight of stairs, broken an arm and done Merlin-knows-what to the rest of him, landed in front of Snape's room of all places, and yet was screaming because of a _nightmare?_

Rolling his eyes at the dramatics of it all, Snape spelled the boy silent, already feeling a headache forming, and walked calmly over to him. To try to avoid further damage to the idiot's arm, he did some rather complicated spells that required a lot of effort and concentration, as well as skill, that to anyone looking on simply looked like a lot of silly wand-waving, and made a splint appear around Potter's arm, correcting its angle and setting it all in one go.

The pain that Potter must have experienced while this was happening was completely ignored by the Potions Master. That is, until said Potions Master was punched with the fist of a very not broken right arm.

Potter had sat up, cradling his now-splinted left arm and looking like he had been, well, tossed down a flight of stairs. He searched around for his wand, located it, then took stock of his things around him, invisibility cloak and map being franticly shoved into the pockets of his cloak as he tried to undo any damage them having been out for Snape to see. He then looked at Snape, his green eyes hardening, seeming to blame him for his predicament.

Watching Potter yell and curse while Silencio'd was probably one of the more enjoyable things Snape had seen in all of his years. It took about a minute for him to even realize that his voice wasn't actually making any sound.

When he noticed this, he became even more enraged at having been silenced. He then started emitting loud banging noises from the end of his wand, something Snape had only ever seen a spoiled toddler do by accident when he hadn't gotten his way (though to Draco's credit, he grew out of that phase rather quickly… namely by having his every whim attended to, but that is beside the point). Snape had only so much patience for the Gryffindor to begin with, this only adding to his frustration at life and the pest in front of him.

"Now, Potter, if you will cease that infernal racket, and swear for no more screaming to occur, I will allow you to speak again. If not, then I hope you are quite adept at Charades as you will be using it to communicate from now on." Snape smiled evilly. It was good to be in charge.

Potter just huffed (silently) and nodded his head, moving to stand up from his crouched position.

"Oh no you don't, Potter, stay where you are!" Snape snapped, lifting the jinx with an unnecessary stabbing motion of his wand.

Potter chose his first words to be spoken after being so graciously given back the gift that was speech to be these: "Fuck off, Snape."

"Eloquent as usual, Potter. 50 points from Gryffindor for swearing at a teacher." Potter huffed aloud this time and stood up and tried to take a step away from Snape, only managing to crumple a tad. _Hmm,_ Snape thought, _his ankle must have turned in the fall as well… bloody, prideful little-_ "And it shall be another 50 if you continue to try and run away. I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave."

Potter stood with a determined look at Snape, a challenge lined in his face, just asking for Snape to hex him or take more points away.

Then, he turned to walk away. Or rather, limp away.

Snape wasn't having any of that. "Stop right there, Potter, if you know what's good for you!"

"Or you'll what, Snape? Huh? Break my other arm?" Potter ignored Snape assuring him that he had not, in fact, broken his arm, "Run off to your little snakes and brag and laugh at how the great Harry Potter can't even walk down a flight of stairs? At how he wakes up screaming every night? Go ahead. I don't give a shit." Something in Potter seemed to have snapped. Some pent up anger toward Merlin knew who or what had made it past a floodgate and was being randomly tossed at Snape. Knowing how hypocritical it was of him to think so, he still didn't quite appreciate it.

Again, Potter tried to hobble away.

Storing away the information Potter had just inadvertently given him, Snape proceeded as if he hadn't heard him. "It may shock you, Potter, but I actually meant 'good for you.' Now, if you'll stop being moronic for a moment, I'll escort you to the Hospital Wing where Madam Pomphrey will-"

"No!" Potter cut him off, eyes wide. "No, that really won't be necessary, Professor, I'll be fine. Just a tad sprain, nothing to worry about. See?" He walked up a stair, barely hiding his wince at the movement. "I'm perfectly fine."

Snape just looked skeptically at him. Then, he moved to the stairs in a swift motion, not feeling his usual state of lethargy for a few moments. It was nice to have a pursuit to focus on once more.

Ostensibly blocking the stubborn student's path, Snape did the one thing Potter ever seemed to answer to with anything other than petulance: gave him an ultimatum. "Now Potter, you have two choices: you may either go willingly to the Hospital Wing or I can and will take you there by force."

"There is no way in hel- Hippogriff," he changed the word at Snape's look, gritting his teeth and obviously holding in whatever magical curse was on his tongue, wishing to be used, "that I am going to put myself through yet another trip to see Madame Pomphrey just so she can fuss over me and tell me I need to get more bloody sleep and whatever other lecture she had in mind! There is nothing wrong with me-"

"Oh, believe me, Potter, there is definitely _something_ wrong with you-"

"I am fine, Snape!" Potter all but roared it in Snape's face. "I'm just going to go back to my room and sleep it off. Believe me, I've had worse."

Snape doubted a sprained ankle and a _broken arm_ were things one could simply "sleep off" and informed the impertinent brat of this, receiving only attitude in response.

"What do you care, Snape? If I fell and died it wouldn't affect you in the least. Now, move out of my way and let me go!"

Snape didn't budge. "You are, as usual, incorrect, Potter. If you died right now it would affect me." Potter raised his eyebrows in surprise. "After all, where you landed put you in my territory and therefore as my responsibility." Snape then had an idea. He smirked. "If you won't go to Pomphrey, then at least come with me to my rooms, I have all of the necessary potions and can patch you up without Poppy needing to know."

Potter was protesting even before Snape had the entire sentence out. It seemed like the perfect plan to Snape. It would be terrible to have to _actually_ take him in there, but if the only other option was Snape then he just knew the boy would choose the infirmary. Reverse psychology.

"No, no way in hell, Snape!"

"Language, Potter-"

"There is no way I am going to anyone! I am fine and I don't need anyone harping on me about this-" the brat had the nerve to think that Snape was doing this out of kindness? Well, Snape would just have to inform him of how wrong he was. As usual.

"Yes, well, you should've thought of that before you fell in front of my door. Merlin only knows how many more staircases you will fall down even on the way to your precious common room. If I let you escap- _go_ now then I can't in good conscience claim no liability for when your stupidity gets you killed, yet again, Potter." Surprise turned back into the glare he was used to, meaning to Snape that he had won.

Why was he never right about winning?

"I thought you were used to lying, Snape. Isn't sitting by and letting people die when you could have stopped it some sort of Slytherin past time?" He was trying to get him to do what he usually did, get angry and storm off. If there was one thing Severus Snape could never do, it was let a Potter win.

Snape sneered. "Contrary to popular belief, Potter, I do not enjoy having students die simply because they were too idiotic to accept help from another human being. Or am I wrong in assuming that dying for no good reason other than pure stubbornness is a _Gryffindor_ past time?"

He knew he had struck the right chord when Potter's face fell. It was a tad below the belt, bringing up deaths of someone's friends and family, but if it got him out of trouble, Snape had no issue with it.

What he hadn't expected, though, was the reaction.

Potter just smiled. A small, slight smile, but a smile nonetheless. Snape added mental illness to his list of things to search for in the event that Potter allowed him to actually check if he was alright. Which he still doubted. Still, that smile… it creeped him out.

"You'd probably be right on that one, Snape." It was just a whisper, but it seemed to echo in the dungeon hallway. Did it seem to get colder in there? "Though, it's far more getting others killed than ourselves." The smile disappeared, replaced by the most self-pitying look Snape had ever seen.

He hated it.

Sneering, letting his anger get the better of him once again, he dragged the Gryffindor from his spot on the wall and, setting his pride aside for a moment, acted as a crutch in order to drag Potter toward his door. "Potter, you will listen and listen well. You are going to go in there, you will take whatever potion I had you without argument, and then you will get the hell out of the dungeons. I do not want to so much as see your face again until it is time for breakfast Monday morning and even then I would suggest not making eye-contact with me."

He continued in the same vein, rambling off threats every now and again as he forcibly dragged a complaining Potter through his door, across his sitting room and to the black couch on the opposite side of it, nestled right next to the fire and right across from his reading chair. With one longing look to his chair and his book, he placed (read: flung) Potter onto the couch, taking only as little care as was ingrained into him by years of teaching and brewing careful potions to make sure Potter's arm, still splinted even after the tantrum its owner threw in the hallway, and leg didn't get any more damaged than they had been from the fall.

"There, now you _will stay where you are_ until I return from my storeroom with what I need. If you so much as _think_ of leaving or going through any of my things then I will call the Headmistress in here as well as Pomphrey," that one got his attention, "and I assume you would prefer I not. Now, again: _Stay_." He sent a wary look at Potter, sensing his finally having given in, and left the room.

Once in his storeroom, Snape proceeded to slam his head into the nearest wall. "Idiot, idiot, IDIOT!" He hadn't actually meant to bring the teenager into his care, had wanted anything and everything but, yet, once again, had let his anger get the better of him and now he was stuck playing nursemaid to someone he hated.

Sure, he could just send Potter away, say he changed his mind, but that would mean backing down. Would mean letting Potter win and that was something Snape could not, _would not_, do. Never.

So, in order to keep his pride intact, even in its already weakened condition, he grabbed his medical bag and strode out into his sitting room, Professor mask fully in place, and, ignoring that it was Potter, cast the necessary diagnostic spells and administered the correct potions.

It seemed Potter had indeed sprained his ankle, as well as his broken arm, which was now out of its splint, and the maximum dosage of Skele-Gro he administered would heal them both in no time. He ignored Potter's reaction to how disgusting Skele-Gro was, something that he, even as a Potions Master, had to agree with.

Potter also had a very mild concussion, which he was able to heal immediately due to it not being so bad, and other than a few bruises and scrapes, he had come out relatively unscathed from his fall down a staircase.

Potter was fixed, at least for the most part, but there was one thing that Snape hadn't quite thought through.

If Potter so much as got up to walk around, his ankle wouldn't heal correctly, nor would his arm if Potter actually did anything with it.

So, ostensibly, Potter had to be confined to the place he was.

Which was Severus Snape's personal quarters.

On his couch.

Looking at said Professor like he had grown an extra head when he had informed him of this.

"I can make it the walk to the tower just fine." Snape looked doubtful again and scoffed at the idea. "I just want to go back to my common room and sleep, Sn- Professor." Good sweet Merlin, Potter just called him Professor. Snape sneered at the blatant attempt at sucking up.

Though, the insufferable boy _did_ need to sleep. The bags under the boy's eyes were even more noticeable now that he was close enough to see them. They quite resembled the Professor's own, if he were to admit it to himself. That and Snape really didn't want to have to find Potter laying in front of his doorstep again.

A small, small part of Snape was also worried about the student. A very, VERY small part that he resolutely ignored. Yet again. As usual.

"Fine," he said, "If you insist on being stubborn, you may sleep on my couch." Potter opened his mouth to interrupt him, looking as if his response would be rather colorful if allowed to be uttered, and Snape silenced him with a glare. "You may not continue wandering around the castle, and if I didn't make you _sleep_ Poppy would murder me in _mine_, so, it's either sleep on the couch or I send you to the Hospital Wing faster than you could say Hippogriff."

When he didn't get a reply, he took it as a yes. "Good. I'll get you something so you can sleep. No negotiation, Potter."Snape snapped, stood and walked into his storeroom once more, trying to remember just how much Dreamless Sleep he had left. When he emerged from the room, potion vial in hand, it was to find a very asleep Harry Potter on his couch. He sighed and set the vial down on the table next to the couch.

After all of that struggle and fighting over the damned teen not wanting to sleep on his couch, what was the first thing he did on said couch? _Fall asleep._ Snape grumbled to himself as he went and, for reasons unknown, grabbed Potter a spare blanket he kept in his room for the winter months in the dungeons. He explained it away to himself, gently throwing the blanket over the slumbering lion, by thinking that Minerva wouldn't appreciate his allowing Potter to turn into a human Popsicle due to the cold of the dungeons.

_Bloody Potter,_ he thought as he walked back to his chair he had vacated what seemed like a month ago. Sighing yet again, he settled into his favorite reading spot, glanced at Potter who was still fast asleep and possibly drooling slightly on _his_ couch, and grumpily opened his book.

After a few moments of the only sounds in the room being the fire and the calm, even breathing of the sleeping teen, Severus slammed his book shut again, unable to concentrate. His mind was racing.

What had Potter meant earlier when he had said he woke up every night screaming? Surely the Gryffindor Golden Boy wasn't plagued by nightmares.

Then again, he thought, what else could that in the hall have been? He certainly wasn't having a _good_ dream. And, if he admitted it to himself, Potter had seen more than his share in the war.

Yeah, he thought, hiding away with his two best friends, avoiding the front lines at all costs and breaking into Gringotts. He hadn't even died when he was supposed to!

Snape ignored the voice in his head telling him that he was just still sore over Potter leaving him in the Shrieking Shack to die. After all, the Golden Boy had hated him and he would have done the same to any of _his_ enemies.

He looked at the sleeping figure, tucked into the blanket he had put over him. He looked so relaxed, so at peace. Dark circles outlined eyelids that covered a stunning pair of eyes. Eyes Snape always hated looking into for what they reminded him of.

Damn him for having his mother's eyes, he thought, growling. Everything would have been so much easier if he had just looked the replica of his father like he was supposed to. But no, he had Lily's eyes. Lily's perfect, emerald green eyes. The eyes of the girl he loved, so long ago…

Eyes that were now looking at him.

Snape jumped, the boy's eyes having flown open. As he opened his mouth to ask him what the bloody hell he was looking at, the boy began to scream. It was heart-wrenching, terrible and blood-curdling and Snape didn't have to think to know that, though his eyes were open, Potter was still asleep.

The boy's hands came up to his face and started started scratching at it, leaving long nail marks across his cheeks. The healing broken arm looked as if it was about to be broken again if left alone any longer. With an exasperated snarl, Snape threw his book down and walked swiftly- he wouldn't call it running, he doesn't RUN to help a Potter- to the couch to save Potter from himself. He grabbed the boy's wrists, thinner than he had expected them to be, and pinned them to his sides, calling out his name to try and wake the damn kid up.

Green eyes, still open and trapped in a dream, slowly became more aware. The boy, shaking his head a tad, panting and trying his hardest to calm his own breathing, looked at Snape in wonder. Potter said something groggily which Snape couldn't understand as his gaze turned from Snape, hovering above him and practically straddling him on the couch, to his arms, pinned to his side by Snape's rather able hands.

"Um, Professor… could you let me go?" Potter turned red, almost seeming… embarrassed? Snape let go, remembering himself.

"That was some nightmare you just had, Potter. Much like the one earlier." The boy's eyes widened a tad but his face, set in neutral and the bags under his eyes seeming even more pronounced, gave away nothing. "Care to explain?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

Potter just shook his head, moving to a sitting position and cradling his head in his hand, the one not attached to the broken arm, elbow propped on his knee. "To you, Snape?"

"Professor-" Snape cut in.

"Professor. No, I don't want to nor do I need to explain anything to you. You wouldn't… just drop it, alright? Please."

Snape, oddly enough, obliged. _Wow, I must be far more tired than I thought I was,_ he thought to himself, shaking his head slightly at his moment of going soft.

Potter then did something that Snape never thought was possible. He asked for help. "Sir, Professor, would it be okay if-" he was still not looking Snape in the eye, face buried in his hand, "would you sit with me until I fall asleep?"

Resisting the urge to lace it with a snarl, Snape replied that he had, in fact, been there until Potter had fallen asleep the last time.

The teen then looked at him, emerald green eyes glassy from holding back tears, the boy looked as if something had fallen apart and he was on his last string, "I don't mean in the room… please, I just… I won't ever speak of it again and you can mock me relentlessly if you want but please, could you just sit with me? I need someone there. Please."

It was official, Snape was in the middle of some horrifying nightmare.

Suddenly Potter reached out and the next thing Snape knew he was being dragged onto his own couch, being clutched to like a child's stuffed toy. His head conjured an image of a giant Severus Snape-shaped stuffed animal being clung to by a child during a nightmare. He scoffed at the mental image and looked down at Potter, prepared to snap at him, and found he couldn't.

Some part of Snape, some human part he would blatantly deny was ever there, melted at the sight. Harry Potter, the great and mighty savior of the Wizarding World, curled in on himself, clinging to his most hated teacher's robes for dear life, whimpering. Tears slowly streaked down the boy's cheeks, following the patterns his nails had just scratched into them, making him look his age for the first time in Snape's eyes.

For, no matter what he had been through in the past few years, Potter was just that. A kid. It reminded him just a tad too much of himself, watching the crying teenager. Sighing, knowing he would hate himself for it later, Snape leaned back into the couch, letting Potter snuggle up to him. Absent-mindedly, as if his hand moved of its own accord, he began running his fingers through the hysterical teen's messy hair.

For some reason unfathomable to Snape, this did the trick and calmed the Gryffindor. With a sniffle, Potter calmed enough to fall back asleep, still clinging to Snape.

Snape, resigned to his fate, stayed there for a while, listening to Potter breathe. Throughout the years, Snape had been called in by his lower years to help in the event of a nightmare or, like he was beginning to think Potter's was, night terror. He was never a nurturer, had never even attempted to be, yet he could at least handle a hysterical child.

Hysterical teenager, though, was one he had yet to face. Not till Potter. He couldn't help wondering, still absent-mindedly carding his fingers through the teen's hair, what on earth could have caused him to have such a night terror. Especially one so bad that he found cuddling with Severus Snape to be better than just facing the damned thing.

Snape realized just how un-Snape-like he was being. He rolled his eyes at himself, proclaiming he was going soft and resolved to just be more of an arse to Potter from now on to make up for it.

He attempted to get up, like he would usually do after helping a younger child, letting them calm in his not-so-warm embrace when they were merely looking for a parental stand in, but found that he could not. For Potter was no first year, or even a third year, but an 18 year old, just about full-grown, man and dead weight at that.

Cursing the name of Potter for the billionth time in his life, he reached for his wand only to find it still sitting where he had last placed it. On his chair. Across the room.

"Bugger it all!" he hissed, and sat back and began planning just how he would not only get Potter back for this, but force out of him the reasoning behind what the hell just happened.

"Maybe this entire night has just been some horrible dream," he said to the empty room, listening to his voice echo across the stone. He looked down at the teenager who had managed to pin him to his own couch. Sleeping like a baby.

Now this was something he envied of the teen. Even if he had just awoke screaming for the second time that night, at least he was _able_ to sleep. If it weren't for the assortment of potions Snape kept fully stocked at all times for himself, he would have gone insane by now. He couldn't so much as remember the last time he got a good night's sleep, let alone slept at night!

He looked at the clock he had above the mantle. It was only 1am! How in the name of Merlin could it only have been 1am?

Snape rested his head on the back of the couch. _This is going to be a long night_, he thought. Though, maybe he would get lucky and Potter would wake up again in a few minutes having another nightmare as that did seem to be the general pattern that was forming.

His mind was filled with the sounds of the fireplace and two sets of lungs breathing, one his and one the weight pinning him to the couch. Eventually, the breathing evened out, sounding as if it were only one person, and, completely unaware, Severus Snape nodded off, snoring gently, with Harry Potter curled around him.

For the first time in too long, both men slept a dreamless sleep. No potion necessary.

* * *

><p>AN: Aaaaand we're back! XD Wow, that chapter was longer than I thought it was… Haha. Let me know if you prefer the long chapters to the short ones.<p>

I promise, though, if it's another long chapter, things will have actually occurred to cause such a long chapter. I apologize again for this one's length, I just started writing them fighting and for some reason I just couldn't stop!

I may wind up fixing this chapter and re-uploading it at some point, but for now I really hope you liked it and don't worry, plot will totally start in this next chapter. This has all sort of been set-up.

I'm also hoping my ironic use of the word "ostensibly" in this doesn't get me too many grammar flames. It's supposed to not quite work. *runs away and hides* I promise?

~hands out e-cookies to all who read this far~ You deserve them!

Don't forget to drop a little review by me on how you felt about this, or telling me to stop asking for a review, or even if my Author's Notes are too long, believe me I'm open to hear anything you've got to throw at me. :D

Yours truly,

ForeverJynxed 3


	4. That Awkward Morning After

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own or even claim to EVER own anything related to Harry Potter or its affiliates. It all belongs to Jo Rowling and the rights are still the sole property of WB and Scholastic and whatever other companies are in charge of distributing HP books, movies and whatnot. I am only a simple fangirl who had an idea and felt the need to write it down and share it with other fangirls who are of similarly-minded types.**

**Oh, and, in case that one didn't get the gist across: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING! Only the laptop on which this was written and a slight case of insomnia. XD**

AN: Oh my goodness, everyone I am SO SORRY for how long this update took! XP

I can make excuses till the cows come home, but it mainly boils down to my having rewritten this chapter, and even the pacing of the plot, four or five different times, trying to find one that worked.

I'm not sure if the version I finally decided upon (after resisting the urge to throw my laptop across the room several different times) is really the best, but it's the one that I'm going with because I don't want to drive myself completely insane.

… yet.

I thank the song "Totally F**ked" from Spring Awakening for helping me stay focused enough to finish this version at least. XD It's quite the fitting song for this chapter.

So, with that rambling note, I bit you good reading and hope that this update is acceptable. It had better be for how much it has driven me insane.

The style changed a tad in this chapter, as the POVs keep switching back and forth, so I'm hoping you like it. It was difficult to find a fluid way to have both of the disconnected plot lines told and blahdyblahdyblah and you probably don't care so I'll stop ranting now and let you get on with the chapter! XD

Hope you like it and don't get the torches and pitchforks out just yet,

Yours truly,

ForeverJynxed

* * *

><p><strong>Insomnia Has Its Perks<strong>

Chapter 4: That Awkard Morning After

Harry's arm was asleep.

This was what alerted him to the fact that he was awake. The asleep arm was all well and good, it was what came with it that Harry's sleep fogged mind paused at.

Mainly that he had woken up, from a full night's sleep, feeling comfortable and well rested.

Realizing something must be wrong, his eyes flew open. For some reason he was still fully clothed and under a blanket he didn't recognize. He also didn't recognize a single thing around him, the black furniture, the bookcases full of, well, books, and, _most_ _definitely_, he didn't recognize the weight that was pinning his arm to the… couch? that he was laying on.

He had no idea what time it was, the room not having any windows or outside lighting. His brain was still stuck on the part where it seemed as if he had woken up next to and slightly on top of someone.

He heard a throat clearing from directly behind his head, confirming his fears. _Oh, shit._

Gulping, wondering where the hell his wand was, he slowly turned toward the weight, seeing nothing but black at first.

Then, he saw that beaked nose and the black, piercing eyes, looking straight at him. Severus Snape was lying slightly underneath him, looking as if he had just woke up as well, and was angry from waking up, pinned to his own couch by Harry Potter. The same Potter whose brain had just stopped working from the shock.

_Oh, dear Wizard God, I made Snape sleep with me last night, didn't I?_ His mind was having trouble comprehending what all of his senses were telling him. He blinked, hoping it would all just go away in the darkness of his eyelids, that he would find it was only a terrible hallucination. It didn't, and it wasn't.

"I… um…" He had no idea what the hell to say. Instead, he settled for quickly, and somewhat spastically, leaping from the couch. Getting knotted into in a blanket he hadn't known was there and having to extricate himself from Snape's robes, getting caught slightly and cursing their obnoxious level of billow, in the process.

When he finally managed to stand up on his own, panting slightly from his mild heart attack and the effort it took, to avoid making eye contact with Snape, he took a short, mental checklist of his pockets. He could feel his cloak, his map, and his wand. All was well. He had everything.

Well, with that thought, he turned away from the Potions Master, still sitting on the couch, staring and looking as "Deer caught in the headlights" as Harry was, and, slamming the door on his way out, ran from that room as fast as he could, not stopping to look back until he was safely in the hall leading to Gryffindor Tower.

The few students he passed were all headed in the opposite direction and, seeing the look that Harry could only guess was blind terror on his face, all seemed to decide against striking up a conversation with him.

_As cowardly as it was, at least I'm not dead,_ he thought, panting and wheezing out, "Grindylow," to The Fat Lady and, ignoring her demands to know what he was doing out so late, entered the common room.

Only to be accosted by Ron and Hermione, fighting as usual, on their way to breakfast.

He loved his red-headed best friend and his bushy-haired best female friend, but put them as a couple and they became a tad annoying after a while. What used to be acceptable because it was what they considered flirting had become almost insufferable as it warped into actual spats between a boyfriend and a girlfriend.

Not that they would ever catch on to, or even notice, his hating to get stuck in the middle of them. But, he supposed their not caring about anyone but each other as far as their relationship was concerned was actually a commendable trait. Besides, the fight they had over Harry's right to be able to break up with Ron's little sister was the only reason Ron didn't hex anything important off of Harry when he found out he and Ginny had broken up over the summer.

Hermione, not missing a beat in her tirade about something or another at Ron, told Harry good morning, wishing him a happy Sunday, and said they'd meet him in the Great Hall as they walked straight past him, the argument now switching to Hermione digging into Ron's study habits for the ninth time that week according to Ron's exasperated replies.

_Well, everyone else seems to be going about their lives as normal, _Harry thought,_ so why the hell do I feel like the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse just went tromping through mine?_

* * *

><p>Severus Snape was still sitting on his couch, dumbfounded as he watched the Gryffindor, Golden Boy and quintessential member of the house where dwells the brave at heart, turn tail and run without so much as an actual word spoken to the man he just held captive all night.<p>

Coward, Snape thought. He wasn't exactly thrilled at having woken up to find someone curled up next him, either. Particularly how content he had felt that moment before opening his eyes and becoming immediately enraged.

_Damn Potter,_ he was seething. The teen fell down a flight of stairs, completely ignored Snape having healed him, used Snape like a giant stuffed animal, then made them slept for 8 straight hours according to the clock on his mantle, and the coward just turns and runs with his tail between his legs and without so much as an _explanation for anything?_

"Bloody Gryffindors," Snape growled, standing and stretching his long, cramped limbs.

He was trying to figure out why, aside from a small crick in his back, he felt extremely awake, refreshed and… rested.

He shrugged it off as being from the stress he had to go through last night before sleeping. _It must have tired me out,_ he thought, retiring to his bedroom to change out of his Student-Catching Cloak and get ready for the day.

The blanket lying crumpled on his couch was the only reminder that Potter being there hadn't just been some strange fever dream.

* * *

><p>Ron and Hermione didn't see Harry at breakfast. Or lunch either. For Harry had confined himself to his dorm, not willing to venture farther than the safety of his four-poster bed.<p>

Harry Potter was _not_ hiding. Nope, not at all. He was just very, _very_ busy, that was all.

He had a lot of homework to finish. Sure, most of it wasn't due until Wednesday and, it being Sunday, he didn't necessarily have to do any of it yet, but he figured now would be a good time to start it. After all, as Hermione was always trying to drill into his and Ron's minds, it was never too late to begin new study habits.

So, Harry sat in his room and decided to spend the day doing his homework.

And had finished it all three hours ago. Apparently when one has no urge to leave the confines of their bed they can accomplish far more than they had ever expected. He was now killing time by rereading his essays and looking over the Marauder's Map, anything to keep him in his dorm.

He still _wasn't hiding_. Snape's threat about how he had better not show his face to him until at least breakfast on Monday _wasn't _running through his mind every minute or so, and he most definitely _wasn't_ terrified of Snape.

The fact that he kept searching for Snape's dot on the map just to make sure he wasn't going to rush into Gryffindor Tower and murder him had nothing to do with being scare of Snape.

Not scared of _Snape_ at all. … what Snape might _do to him_, yes, but not the person. He had his pride, after all.

Speaking of pride, it was right as he was about to call for Kreature to bring him some dinner, having done it for the other two meals of the day (again, he was _NOT _afraid to leave the safety of his room) that the door opened and in walked a sheepish looking Ronald Weasley.

"Hey, Harry."

Harry could tell by the reluctant smile and the red tinge to his best friend's ears that he had been sent by Hermione to go and check on him. _It's nice to know they care, _he thought, laughing at his friend.

Ron relaxed at his laughter. "Damn, you're a hard guy to find, Harry. Hermi- _We_'ve been worried."

_Nice save,_ he thought, setting his Charms essay down (after having read through it for the third time, admitting defeat and that there was nothing he had left to fix in it).

"Sorry, Ron. Probably should've told you guys I'd be in here all day."

"I see that." He gestured to the homework next to Harry in disbelief, "Getting a head start on the Charms work? 'Mione would flip if she found out you were doing your homework early. Try to use it against me, probably. She's really been on my case about it lately. I'd been using you as proof she was overreacting and now- No offense, but you're making me look bad." Ron was joking, he knew. He'd been all about the Harry-deprecating humor since the locket fiasco.

_He probably will be till he finds out why I broke up with Ginny_, Harry thought, wriggling a tad on his bed, suddenly uncomfortable.

"Well, I'll be sure not to tell her if you won't then, Ron." Ron gave him a thankful grin and crossed the room to flop down on his bed.

"Good. Just try not to make a habit of it. I'd never hear the end of it from 'Mione. Though, if it happens again, could ya tell one of us first? Damned near chewed my ear off about finding you, 'Mione did."

Trying not to snap at his friend, who could have easily found him if he had even attempted to search, or even asked a single Gryffindor who would have pointed him this way, he apologized again for not telling them. "Sorry, I just had a lot on my mind today, didn't really feel like hanging around anyone."

Ron flopped completely down on his bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. "Yeah, well, it would've been nice to be able to tell 'Mione where you've been this whole time. Between your shortened temper and general attitude lately, she's been worried sick over you. I swear, Harry, lately it's seemed like you're less our friend and more our giant, grumpy kid."

Trying to not take that as an insult, Harry got up, stretching a tad bit too largely. "Yeah, well, this _kid_'s gonna head on down to the Great Hall. Dinner is sounding much more appealing by the second."

Leaving Ron lying in his bed, none the wiser to him having just pissed his friend off, yet again, he headed down to the Entrance Hall, fully willing to risk Snape killing him.

_Anything's better than putting up with another fight about his attitude. It would only lead to another "We were there, too, Harry, we know what you're going through" lecture, _Harry thought with a growl_. They have no fucking clue what I'm going through. At least they have each other._

_I've got nobody._

He wasn't terrified until he actually got into the hall and, seeming magnetized through an apparent unwillingness of his body to remain in one piece, immediately made eye contact with Snape from all the way across the hall.

_If looks could kill,_ he thought.

He all but ran to the Gryffindor table and sat down, unaware of anything but the glare he could feel burning into the back of his head from those black eyes.

Harry kept expecting to be hexed.

Well, honestly, no one could blame him. He had ran with his tail between his legs from the most feared teacher in Hogwarts school's rooms after having kidnapped his couch and his, well, entire person in order to sleep.

_Oh, god, and what a sleep it was._ Harry was astounded that every time he blinked he had no urge to keep his eyes closed, no extra effort to pull his eyelids back open or anything.

He would've hazard a guess that the bags under his eyes may not have looked as prominent anymore. He could feel the puffiness of his eyes having gone down already.

_Wow, _he thought,_ all of that with just one nap on Snape's couch. Imagine what another one woul- No! You can't let yourself think that. He'll know. Then he'll kill me just for thinking it._

Hesitantly, Harry looked ever so slightly at the Staff Table. Sure enough, right there in his normal spot sat Snape. Same old, billowy cloak, long, greasy black hair and hooked nose, yet somehow he looked… different?

Harry turned his attention back to his food to think about it, careful not to make eye contact- again- with his Professor, remembering the threat he had made the night before- again.

_What's different about him? More rested, probably,_ Harry thought with a smirk. _Maybe I wasn't the only one that got something out of our night together._

_Geez, Potter, don't phrase anything to do with Snape that way ever again or I may have to Obliviate you,_ he scolded his inner voice. The damned thing was gonna get him in trouble, he just knew it.

"Hey, Harry, what's with you today?" Hermione sounded worried from her spot across the table. As usual, he had sat across from Hermione, who was still waiting for Ron to come down to dinner when he gotten to the table. Ron got there a few minutes later and took his spot next to his girlfriend, still oblivious to Harry being irritated with him.

Lately, Harry had taken to sitting as far away as possible from the (more often than not) bickering couple as he could. He certainly wasn't going to make the mistake of sitting in the middle of them again. His ears were ringing for a week from the yelling alone.

Harry finally looked up from his plate. "What do you mean? I'm the same as I always am." He took an overly large bite of his dinner, not really noticing what it was he was eating.

"Yeah, 'Mione's got a point, Harry. Now that I really look at you, you look… different." Ron tilted his head, trying to figure out what was off about his best friend.

Harry shrugged. "Nothing's different. Just got a good night's sleep is all." He determinedly didn't make eye contact with his friends or glance at the staff table.

_Yeah, a good night's sleep in the arms of the Dungeon Bat himself. _Even thinking it was too much of a reminder for him. He was internally yelling at his thoughts again.

Hermione was beaming. "You did? Oh, finally, Harry, that's such a good thing! See, and you were worried about him, Ron."

Ron was shaking his head quickly, eyes wide, "No, I wasn't. I swear, Harry, I wasn't worried at all." Ron was always so quick to jump on the "Don't Get Mad At Me" boat, particularly when it wasn't necessary. "I knew you'd get the whole sleeping thing down eventually. Hell, as far as I knew you've been sleeping soundly through the night since we got back to the school." He smiled at his friend's naiveté. Of course he thought that. Ron had yet to be woken up by Harry having screaming nightmares because Harry had simply chosen to stop sleeping, taking walks around the castle at night. When he did sleep, it would be in the Room of Requirement, which thankfully still worked after that whole Fiendfyre disaster during the war.

So long as Harry didn't try to ask for a place to hide something, the room would remain in perfect condition.

Hermione pursed her lips, "No, Ronald, I'm quite certain you were worried about him. You just told me the other day-"

"I think I would know what I said, Hermione, and it was that I wasn't worried. I knew he had things under control." Ron countered, his ears going red.

Harry sighed. This was how it worked, Ron would say something, Hermione would correct him, Ron would get offended and defend himself, fighting would commence and end in their making up and running off to snog somewhere, come back and greet Harry like an old friend, lather rinse and repeat ad infinitum.

It was almost refreshing that his friends had become so predictable. Almost.

Harry, no longer very hungry, got up from the table with a, "See ya in the common room," and left the Great Hall, and his bickering friends who had already moved farther toward the making up portion. He certainly wasn't sticking around for what came next.

The only problem was, everyone in Gryffindor was down at dinner, so even though he was in the common room, he had no choice but to sit in silence.

In the quiet of the room, Harry had nothing to stop his thoughts from wandering exactly where he didn't want them. He couldn't stop thinking about that morning.

Mainly how comfortable and safe he felt waking up next to someone. The fact that it was Snape didn't seem to make any difference. Well, okay, if he was honest with himself, it probably wouldn't have been the same with anyone else. Snape just had that aura about him. That "Fear Me or Perish!" thing that one couldn't help being both annoyed by as well as in awe of.

_Maybe Snape wasn't so bad after all, _he thought._ He didn't kill me, right? That's gotta count for something_. He had seen into his head during the Final Battle. Those memories… he couldn't help but have at least a bit of respect for the man who spent years defying Voldemort, risking his life to keep Harry alive, and being the confidant of the two most powerful wizards of their ages.

And he knew he had feelings, like normal people. _Maybe, _Harry thought,_ Snape is just a normal person __underneath all the glares, sneers, billowing cloaks and, well... menacing evil?_

_Nah, _he thought,_ that's probably just some latent effects from the potions he gave me last night._

He sat up from where he was lying down on the couch in front of the fireplace. Checking them, he moved his arm around, and rubbed his ankle. He had certainly healed him completely. Quickly, too.

It seemed he had more to add to the list of things he owed Snape for.

That was gonna be a looooong list by the time he actually got to paying it back. If he ever did, that is.

* * *

><p>Severus Snape hated being reminded of things he wished not to remember. It was the one pure bane of his existence. It had been since he was a child and continued to be into adulthood, becoming even more insufferable as time went by and the amount of things he wished to forget about increased exponentially.<p>

Currently, he didn't want to remember Potter or anything that had happened last night or that morning.

So, when he went to breakfast to find that Potter wasn't there, he was almost happy. Until he realized that Potter not being there just made him wonder where Potter actually was if he wasn't at breakfast.

This continued for the rest of the day with lunch and the in between times.

It seemed that old habits really were difficult to break. Looking after Potter, making sure he was still alive and in one piece, was something Snape had been doing unconsciously from the moment the pompous Potter mark 2 had begun attending Hogwarts school. It was also apparently something he would continue to do whether he liked it or not for the foreseeable future.

So, instead of being happy about Potter doing what he said and staying out of his sight, he was irritated at the teen for disappearing.

It was as he crossed the Hall to get to the staff table that he overheard the Granger girl arguing with the male Weasley to find Potter.

He wasn't sure who he was more angry at, Potter for being missing or the other two thirds of the Golden Trio for losing him that easily.

He was worried. He was worried about that scarheaded numbskull.

Maybe sleeping that long warped my brain, he thought, sneering at his dinner.

Then he sensed Potter entering the Hall. He looked up and made eye contact with the teen. Those startled green eyes looked back at him, terrified.

Lily's eyes…

He glared, snarling at the boy from across the Hall.

Worried_, HA!_ He wasn't worried about anything but getting caught and fired over something as small and insignificant as Potter.

He stabbed a potato with enough force to scratch his fork on the plate, making a horrible scraping sound. He ignored Fillius' complaint.

He didn't give a shit about Potter or his whereabouts. Especially not when he saw him, looking like he had just had a fight with his friends, leaving the Gryffindor table and the Hall.

Potter could go off and get himself eaten by a rogue Thestral for all Snape cared.

Hours later, Snape found himself wondering what Potter had fought about with the Gryffindor Silver Couple, as the faculty had dubbed them. His stomping off being something of a bi-weekly occurrence since they returned to finish their last year at Hogwarts, something about them had to be annoying him.

_Potter probably had another prima donna moment, _he thought._ Merlin knows he had had at least one today. Running away like the cowardly lion he was._

He got up from his chair, irked at his thoughts and, growling at the blanket still sitting on his couch, he went to his room to try and get at least _some _sleep.

* * *

><p>That night, Harry found himself at a loss. He couldn't sleep.<p>

Not the usual way he couldn't sleep, the awake, staring at the ceiling until he would eventually nod off then wake up anywhere from ten minutes to three hours later, screaming from his nightmare. No, that was an acceptable kind of "not sleeping."

This was hell. His eyes were wide open, his brain unable to shut off yet at the same time, he was so tired he could barely move. He found himself sitting and thinking. Just thinking. He had already figured out why the incantation for a Patronus was Expecto Patronum, that if he had one more T in his name it would anagram to "Master to pry the jar," and planned out how he was going to fix Grimmauld Place to where it was even slightly livable when he graduated from Hogwarts. He was simply lying there.

_Just. Thinking._

It was driving him crazy.

Severus knew that the only thing worse than not sleeping for long periods of time was finally sleeping a full night and then being unable to sleep again.

It was like his mind and body were retaliating for his tricking them into thinking they were going to sleep well again from now on. He was a child who had been taken into a candy store, told to look around, pick out whatever he wanted, then, right as he was ready to go, told he wasn't actually going to be getting any of it.

That sense of unearned, shattered happiness and hope.

Which was ridiculous to him. He obviously hadn't thought his insomnia would be cured overnight, and certainly not at the hands of _Potter._

Though, if he were honest with himself, which he rarely was, he would have to admit that Potter _had _single-handedly cured his insomnia, if only for one night. Sure, it was by forcing him to sleep on his not so comfortable couch, and, certainly, yes, if they had been caught, even with Potter just sleeping in his quarters, he could have been fired, and, again, _it was Potter_.

Even after all of that, the fact still remained that Snape had not only slept, but slept for _8 straight hours_. Now, his body was angry that it was being deprived of rest once more.

He growled, tired of staring at his ceiling, and flung himself out of his bed, determined to find something productive to do.

That was how, five minutes later, Snape found himself back in his chair with that same book as the night before, trying to trick his body and mind into sleeping, yet again.

He moved to flip a page, taking a moment to glance at the couch he had been avoiding looking at since he reentered the room.

The blanket was still there, just as Potter had left it. And so, he noticed, was the vial of Dreamless Sleep that he had grabbed for Potter yet never had the chance to actually administer to him.

Snape thought about how much he would have benefited from having actually forced Potter to drink that particular potion, at least in time spent dwelling upon things wise.

Now, it was just lying there, waiting to be taken by someone. Anyone. Maybe someone who needed hours of uninterrupted sleep…

_No, you don't need it,_ he thought to himself, looking away from the small vial.

He didn't need that potion to sleep. Not entirely, at least. Unlike Potter, nightmares weren't the cause of his sleeplessness. At least not entirely. No, Snape was simply too guilt-ridden, bitter, and stuck in the past to allow his mind to shut down enough to get some rest.

_Ironic how the cause of so many months of endless nights and stress was the one thing that was able to successfully trick me into sleeping_, he thought as he shut his book, officially giving up on the damned thing.

_It seems I am not destined to read about the damned history of bicorn horn and its uses in potions._

Standing to return his book to its spot, Snape caught himself glancing at that tiny potion vial full of blue liquid once again.

With a snarl, he turned and began pacing, weighing the pros and cons in his mind of simply downing that potion or another like it and praying for some sleep.

Sleep, or maybe something more.

* * *

><p>Harry Potter had been staring at the canopy of his four-poster bed, lethargic and unable to do anything, for the past three hours.<p>

He had officially run out of ideas as to how to keep himself entertained now that he couldn't sleep again.

Wandering the castle was a definite no-no thanks to his feet trying to kill him the night before. And its ensuing consequences. He wasn't exactly in a hurry to get another broken arm. Or another round of nap-time with Snape…

Still… sleep-deprivation did strange things to people. To Harry, it made him irritated, snippy and immediately defensive over everything he said or did. Hence his short fuse when it came to Ron and Hermione lately. He hated treating them the way he was, but sometimes he just couldn't help but wish someone around him would just be able to share in the pain every once and a while.

Which is why, instead of wandering the halls like he wanted to do, he took out his father's old Map, tapped it and said, as quietly as he could, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

This time, he truly was. He couldn't stop wondering if Snape was being punished as much as he was for having slept last night. He felt it would be fitting, the bastard who made it even more difficult for him to sleep by making it so he could do just that, but for only one night, for him to be torn and awake as well.

Sure enough, after a moment of searching, he finally found the little dot labeled Severus Snape. It was inside his quarters and, to Harry's somewhat sadistic delight, was as awake as he was. If not a tad more so.

He watched as Snape's dot continued pacing back and forth across his small sitting room. It was odd, how focused his mind was able to be on that dot. The more he watched it pace, the more he questioned why Snape would be awake, too.

Harry thought about how Snape had, in fact, seemed well rested earlier in the Great Hall. It only made sense that he must have a similar problem to Harry's.

Harry sat and watched that dot pace for Merlin knew how long before making up his mind. He flew out of his bed, grabbing his Dad's cloak, his wand, and tucking the map into his pocket on the way out, and left Gryffindor Tower at a near run, knowing exactly where he was headed.

He knew he had a 99% chance of being hexed or killed, but he was a desperate man, and to a desperate man, _any_ percent chance of it working is good enough to risk everything on.

Going as fast as he could under the cloak without dislodging it and being able to be seen, he took the Map out of his pocket, making sure that little dot was still where he remembered it being.

It was. Still pacing, the Snape dot was in his quarters, on the other side of the wall Harry had just stopped in front of.

The blank wall where he knew, hidden somewhere, the door to Severus Snape's quarters lay. He removed the Invisibility Cloak and realized he had no idea how to get the door to show up.

_Well,_ he sighed, _let's see how good the adjustments Albus' portrait and I made to this map really were._

True to its makers' abilities, a moment later the map wrote in small, scrawled handwriting, the password to Snape's quarters.

Harry had to blink several times before he would believe his eyes at the password. It was just so… _Snape_.

"Bloody Gryffindors," Harry snarled in his best Snape impression and, after a second of doubt on his part, the wall shifted and there in front of him was the door he remembered being dragged through the other night- and fleeing from the morning after.

Taking one more glance at the Snape dot on the other side of the door, so close on the map that their names started to overlap ever so slightly, and, mustering up every ounce of Gryffindor courage he had, knocked on the door.

Immediately, expecting it for how close the dot had been, Snape threw open the door with a sneer and a growl of, "This had better be important!"

Right when Snape looked at him, realizing it was Harry Potter who had knocked on his door, and moved to slam said door in his face, Harry blurted out the first thing that popped into his head:

"I think we should sleep together!"

_That definitely didn't come out right,_ he thought.

_Crap._

* * *

><p>AN: Well, that was cliff-hanger-y. xD<p>

Sorry, I couldn't resist. Good news is, from how many times I had to change the next days' plot, I already have a good portion of the next chapter written, so that update should be faster! :D

Hope you all enjoyed the update and think enough of it to grace it with a review!

Indebted to you as always,

ForeverJynxed


	5. Could You Repeat the Question?

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own or even claim to EVER own anything related to Harry Potter or its affiliates. It all belongs to Jo Rowling and the rights are still the sole property of WB and Scholastic and whatever other companies are in charge of distributing HP books, movies and whatnot. I am only a simple fangirl who had an idea and felt the need to write it down and share it with other fangirls who are of similarly-minded types.**

**Oh, and, in case that one didn't get the gist across: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING! Only the laptop on which this was written and a slight case of insomnia. XD**

AN: Oh, goodness, I am so sorry this chapter came so late! I know I left you with the most horrific cliffhanger of all time and I feel reeeeally bad about that.

I swear, I tried to get this done in a day or two, but I had a graduation and whatnot and my laptop just tried to leap off the couch and destroy itself. xP

Stressful, it has been, trying to get this chapter sounding right. So much so, I find myself talking like Yoda…

(I can officially say that I love the beginning and the end of this chapter. xD

You can make your own opinions about the middle, it was sort of a random tangent I found myself going on…

Gotta say, though, I had most definitely not planned the amount of Harry angst in this… it was as much as surprise to me as it will be to you. xP)

Wishing you won't hate me **too** much for this chapter,

Yours truly,

ForeverJynxed

* * *

><p><em>Last time on Insomnia Has Its Perks:<em>

Right when Snape looked at him, realizing it was Harry Potter who had knocked on his door, and moved to slam said door in his face, Harry blurted out the first thing that popped into his head:

"I think we should sleep together!"

_That definitely didn't come out right,_ he thought.

_Crap._

* * *

><p><strong>Insomnia Has Its Perks<strong>

Chapter 5: Could You Repeat the Question?

Severus Snape was hearing things. That was the only explanation.

There he was, pacing around his sitting room like he had taken to doing since that illicitly garnered full night's sleep, the sleep which he may have been fired for if caught but was almost so worth it he couldn't find himself caring about that part of it, when he got a knock on his door.

His hidden door that only he knows the password for or even where the hell it is!

Enraged that someone had found his quarters, and chose the dead of night to inform him of this discovery, he threw open the door with his usual snarl and not only found Potter standing there, gaping up at him, but had heard- THAT come out of his mouth!

_He must have said something else, that's all._ Severus would get his hearing checked tomorrow morning, because Harry James Potter, Boy Who Lived and Savior of the Wizarding World had most definitely not just informed Severus Snape that he thinks they should sleep together.

Judging by the rather spot-on imitation of Weasley's hair Potter's face was doing, though, he had to assume that he might not want to be too hasty about scheduling that hearing exam.

"Excuse me?" He hadn't meant for his voice to crack like that, why had his voice cracked like that?

Better question, why did his inner voice suddenly sound like he had been de-aged back to his teen years?

Potter's eyes were as big as a house-elf's. "Um- I- That came out wrong. I-" The Gryffindor was spluttering and stuttering, looking anywhere but Snape's eyes.

Well, that made Snape feel a tad better. At least he was more in control of himself than Potter was.

"Using actual words, if you please, Potter, preferably _before_ I give in to the urge to hex you." Snape drawled, voice thankfully not cracking that time.

Potter sighed, looking Snape in the eye. He had to resist the urge to look away, staring those emeralds down, all thoughts of Legillimency having defenestrated themselves.

"It came out wrong, but I asked you to sleep with me-"

Snape cut him off, "Potter, will you _stop using that phrase_!" Ever the paranoid man, Snape searched the corridors to see if anyone had overheard the blundering idiot.

Potter seemed to have caught on to Snape's fear, for he too searched the halls, "Look, just let me in and you won't have to worry about anyone overhearing." He was setting him up, trying to trick him into letting Potter into his rooms. Snape knew this and went to slam the door back in Potter's face.

Only, what actually happened, much to his mind's amazement, was his arm opening the door further and his stepping aside to let the Gryffindor in.

It was after he shut and warded his door, as he usually did, that his mind regained control of his body.

Potter didn't seem to notice that Snape did anything out of character, though. "Thanks," he said, looking around the small room.

_Potter just thanked me for something…_ _that is it, I have officially gone mad._ "Potter, what in Merlin's name are you doing in my quarters in the middle of the night- and how did you even find them?" Furious with Potter as well as himself, Snape strode up to Potter, more to give himself a reason to move than anything.

Potter just sat on his couch as if he belonged there. _Well, he had spent last night there, it's probably the only place he feels comfortable_, Snape thought to himself, cursing his inner voice yet again.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

Instead of answering, Potter just raised a bit of wrinkled old parchment, that Snape immediately recognized, with a guilty smirk on his face. "Map."

"Yes, I know what the thing is, Potter." He didn't mention that it took a month of convincing (some may even say badgering or annoying) Albus to tell him what it was and for Potter's life to have actually been in danger (from Black, or so he had thought at the time) for him to see the map do anything but insult him. _Best to leave certain things to the imagination. _"I am also aware that it was created with the knowledge of your father and his friends from back when they were students. My quarters and password would _not,_ therefore, be on it, so I ask again, how did you find my quarters and my password?" He bared down upon the Gryffindor, demanding an answer.

_Anything to keep Potter from resuming his attempt at conversation and using that damned phrase again._

Potter sighed, shifting around on the couch, on _Snape's_ couch, "I may have made a few adjustments to it. With Dumbledore's help. Well, his portrait anyway. We… updated it." _Ah, there is that guilty look again._

_So Potter now has the secrets of the entire castle at his disposal? _Snape shuddered at the thought of Potter being let loose upon the school at night, now understanding why he never managed to catch him skulking around the castle at night.

"Ah." What else was there to answer? Albus had had a hand in that, so Snape would yell at the man's portrait later.

They lapsed into one of the most awkward silences Snape's quarters had ever seen. That was counting that morning and all of the years of Death Eaters and Snape saying stupid shit. Potter seemed to have lost whatever power had possessed him to be there, looking as if he were lost in thought, and Snape couldn't _stop_ thinking. _Why is Potter here? Why is Potter here in the middle of the night? Why is Potter sitting on my couch, looking as if he is asking himself those same questions?_

Unable to take the standing and thinking, Snape strode across the room, resisting the urge to turn and begin pacing again, and took his place on his favorite chair once more.

His movement seemed to bring Potter out of his reverie.

The Gryffindor looked up, a determined look set in his eyes, and spoke. "We need to sleep together again."

If Snape had been drinking something, it would have now been all over his room. "Will you _stop saying that_?"

Potter rolled his eyes. "Damn it, Snape, will you just listen? I will admit that I have been avoiding you all day today, terrified of what you would do to me for how last night- for how last night happened. Particularly for my reaction this morning."

"You can say that again." Snape mumbled, earning himself a glare.

"If you interrupt me again-"

"You'll what, Potter? Hex me?" Snape leaned forward in his chair, looking menacing, "Unless you are forgetting, you are in _my_ quarters, sitting on _my_ couch, having weaseled yourself in here- _again-_ so if you will please leave the threatening to the man whose nights you seem to always interrupt with your presence?"

Potter sighed, "I don't know what the hell I was thinking coming here tonight."

"Well, that makes two of us." Snape stood, resolute in his new mission: getting Potter the hell out of his rooms. "If that's that, then will you do us both a favor and get the hell out?"

"Wait, what? You're kicking me out?" For some reason, Potter looked surprised. _Had he really expected to be accepted in here with open arms?_

"That tends to be what asking you to leave is called nowadays, yes."

"But, you haven't even heard why I'm here."

"And I don't intend to. Now, Potter, don't make me say it again: Get. Out." He walked to the door and held it open for the Gryffindor to leave. "Sooner would be better. Less of a chance I change my mind and curse you instead."

Potter looked both scared and newly determined. _Bloody Gryffindors._

"No. I won't leave until you hear me out."

Sighing, just wanting the teenager to get out of his quarters as well as his life, Snape gave in, too tired to fight any longer.

"Fine, Potter. You have two minutes. Go."

Smiling, Potter motioned for Snape to sit back in his chair, which he agreed to somewhat unwillingly a moment or two later. He didn't want to give in that quickly, no matter how exhausted he was. He couldn't let Potter win.

"Look, here's how I see it. We both haven't been sleeping lately, am I right?"

Reluctantly, Snape nodded once.

"Good. Well, not good, obviously, but good that I was right." Snape held in a growl at that. "So, last night, when we slept to- on the same piece of furniture," Potter changed his wording at the snarl Snape sent him. "Well, I'll be honest, that was the best sleep. Ever."

"You must be over exaggerating, Potter. Perhaps your sleep deprivation has addled your brain? It certainly would explain your abysmal performance in Potions class." Snape sneered. Inwardly, he was fearing where this conversation was headed. Nothing scares Severus Snape, though, especially not outwardly.

"Wanna know what's caused my potions scores to suck so badly, Snape? The fact that I have yet to sleep more than a few hours a night, and even then the sleep has been haunted, in months. I am willing to try _anything_ if it means finally getting to sleep, and for some reason, something about last night worked."

Snape opened his mouth to protest, but Potter cut him off. "Look, we both need to sleep, and we both have to admit we slept pretty damn well last night-"

"I don't have to admit anything, and watch your language, Potter."

He continued as if he hadn't heard him. "Why not just see if we can make it happen again? Just one more time and if it doesn't work then I'll stay out of your hair forever."

"Is that a promise, Potter?"

"Well, at least after I graduate from Hogwarts." Snape wasn't quite sure what he was about to say, but Potter interrupted him before he could find out. "I know, the idea is as terrible to me as it is to you, but I also know that I need to sleep and I haven't slept like I slept last night since the war ended." _So Potter hasn't slept in that long? Well, then again, _he figured_, it had to be serious if the idea of spending the night with the Potions Master suddenly seems like a good idea…_ "And I can tell, that the same goes for you." He also had a very good point there.

Snape thought about it. To be honest, he had been suppressing a thought quite similar to Potter's all day. Sleep was something more precious to him than phoenix tears, and just as rare. What's one more night of Potter if it means finding out if he may be able to sleep again?

"It would be… mutually beneficial for us to just try it out again, see what happens."

"Look, I know it's- wait, what did you say?"

"I said, it would not hurt to try it one more time. After all, what have we got to lose? Neither of us were sleeping tonight, as far as I understand it."

Potter was dumbfounded. "You mean… you said yes?"

Snape sighed, tired of this back and forth already. "Yes, Potter, I agreed. Now, let's get this over with before I change my mind."

Potter nodded quickly, excitedly, and moved to the couch, picking up the blanket that was still lying there. Snape had a thought.

"Not there."

Potter stopped mid-sit on the couch. "What?"

"Potter, if we are to do this, then we may as well do it correctly. There is no way I am spending another day with a crick in my neck from that godforsaken couch. Follow me." Follow Snape he did.

"Well, it _is _your couch. And if not the couch, then where?" Snape just continued, ignoring Potter.

Snape opened the door to his room, spelling the lights on. He heard Potter's gasp from behind him when he saw the large bed in the middle of the room.

"You mean… we're gonna sleep on your bed?"

Snape smirked, reveling in having the upper hand once more. "Yes, Potter, as beds are where humans usually sleep. However, if you would prefer to just scrap this endeavor entirely-"

Potter shook his head, "No! Nonono, I'm good with sleeping on the bed. Just surprised, is all."

With that, Snape nodded, raised the blanket on his preferred half of the bed and, with a quick head nod for Potter to do the same on the other side, sat on the uncovered part of the bed.

Potter scrambled awkwardly to the other side of the mattress, moving the blanket and sitting as Snape had. They both just sat there, not quite sure what to do, each staring at the opposite wall and waiting for the other to initiate movement.

They may have sat there for several minutes before Snape, realizing how ridiculous this whole thing was, snapped at Potter. "This was another idiotic idea from you, Potter."

With that, Potter, apparently determined to make Snape's life as much of a living hell as possible, threw himself down on Snape's bed, his head bouncing on the pillow, and huddled underneath the blanket. "There is no way I'm leaving, Snape, so either sleep and let's get this over with, or go back to your book in the other room." Even muffled, Potter's voice was clear as day in the empty room.

Summoning what shreds of pride he had left, Snape spelled the lights off and lightly settled himself on his own bed, as far away from the radiating heat that was Potter on the other side.

"We will never speak of this again." Snape's voice was a threat in and of itself.

He felt Potter nod on the pillow next to his. "Agreed. Now, um… 'night, Snape."

Rolling his eyes at the teen, Severus turned flat on his back, his foot touching Potter's. Their feet flew away from one another as fast as if they had been burned.

It was as he was ignoring their shared, childish reacion that he realized that not only did Potter still have his shoes on, but they were both fully dressed.

_Well, better to sleep in my clothes for the second night in a row than to, what, tell Potter to strip? To be mostly naked in a bed with one of my students, even if that student is of age? No thank you,_ Snape thought. Still, he found himself missing his t-shirt as the collar of his dress shirt dug into his neck and his robes added what seemed to be 20 degrees to the temperature under his down comforter. He was practically sweating.

The normally chilly dungeon was even more like a sauna when you added in the body heat from the awkward form next to him.

Snape lay there, staring at his ceiling and listening to Potter breathe for an immeasurable length of time. He was hot and it was so unusual it unnerved him.

His mind was oddly blank. There was nothing to keep him occupied and therefore nothing for him to really think about at that moment. Just him and Potter's breathing which, eventually, evened out to that of someone sleeping.

He wondered what Potter had been thinking before he fell asleep. Whether it was similar things to what he was. It occurred to him that he didn't really know the 18 year old. Not since the war, anyway. He had certainly learned more about the teen in the past few nights than he had ever truly known in the previous years. Some things, particularly the nightmares, had him puzzled.

So he simply lay there, listening to Potter sleep, wondering who in the hell the person lying next to him was. An answer refused to appear from mid air, though, so he simply took in the silence instead, broken only by the steady rhythm of breath from beside his head.

He honestly kept expecting for Potter, twitching slightly in his sleep, to awake screaming yet again. For him to have to save the teen from himself- again.

But no nightmare came. Unless you count the one Snape was convinced he was living in when Potter's hand clamped around his own in his sleep.

He sent his glare where he knew Potter's eyes were.

Those green eyes that, once looked into, Snape couldn't seem to look away from. Even when livid with the teen, as he had been when he knocked on his door, he found himself drawn to those eyes.

Never able to look away.

Sighing, knowing the teen wouldn't wake up any time soon, no matter how hard he glared, Snape moved to take back his arm, but Potter simply increased his hold on the man's hand.

He sighed yet again, and, oddly enough, allowed it, adjusting his arm so it was at a less awkward angle.

That's how Severus Snape fell asleep, holding hands with Harry Potter.

All the while, the dark man was telling himself it was for Lily. That he was only trying to help the son of the woman he loved once again.

Not even for a moment considering how much that son could or would help him.

* * *

><p>An alarm went off at 6 o'clock in the morning, managing to both scare the crap out of Harry Potter as well as annoy him.<p>

_Damn Snape and his need to wake up early,_ he thought as he checked the time on his watch.

Harry yawned, stretching the sleep out of his limbs.

_Well, that was quite the good night's rest_, he thought. _Nice and long,_ he then thought sarcastically. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness of the dungeon, listening to Snape grumbling at his alarm and waking up in a similar fashion beside him on the bed.

That morning he had remembered where he was and why far more quickly than he had the one before. It seemed to help if the sleeping in a different place was planned ahead of time, if only a few minutes beforehand.

He had to remind himself it was Monday and he had classes to go to in two hours. _I should stop off for breakfast in the Great Hall first,_ he thought as he, extremely unwillingly, sat up from his rather comfortable place on Snape's bed.

He honestly hadn't expected to be sleeping on that bed, so had no thought as to what it would feel like before clambering into it the night before, but if he had he definitely wouldn't have expected it to be comfortable. Hard as the dungeon floor, maybe. That would have been wrong. Sure, it was still a hard mattress, but it had just enough give in it to cradle a person straight to Slumberland.

In fact, the only complaint or, rather, strange thing he had to say about the sleep was that he had woken up seeming to be holding hands with Snape earlier. Harry had released the man's hand the moment he realized that what he was holding was a hand. The fact that he was still alive had him assuming he had broken the contact before Snape had time to notice it.

Harry felt Snape sit up as he did, and if he had dared to look behind him at Snape he was willing to bet they would look the mirror image of one another. _Hell, he's probably still wearing that damned cloak of his,_ Harry thought, taking in his own fully clothed state. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, determined to wake up completely before talking with Snape. The last thing he needed was another repeat of the day before.

Snape cleared his throat from behind him and Harry took it as a sign to turn around.

Harry's fear of being hexed was still present, not being a complete idiot, but he was far too well rested to care. Even if he had only gotten a few hours of sleep, it was a few more than he had expected. Besides, he wasn't too keen on letting the man who most likely had his wand within closer reach than Harry did stay out of his sight for much longer.

Snape was sitting on the bed, faced away from Harry. With his back to him, he sighed deeply and spoke with finality to his voice.

"Tonight. Wait until all of your little Gryffindor friends are asleep before you leave. Use the map to check that the halls are clear. I will not save you if you get caught out of bed. And bring sleep clothes."

Harry couldn't believe his ears. Snape was inviting him back? He resisted the urge to jump up gaily and click his heels together.

Instead, he nodded, said, "Okay," and, taking Snape's statement as a dismissal, got up, grabbed his wand from where it had fallen on the floor in his sleep and calmly exited Snape's quarters.

Once Snape's door was shut, he threw his cloak around him and all but skipped to the Great Hall.

That's right, he skipped. If he weren't under his Invisibility Cloak, he would have gotten some very strange looks from his schoolmates.

He couldn't quite help it, though. He was well-rested for the first real time in months, and his body was finally _thanking_ him for it. That and he was going to be going back that night for another night of sleep and the idea of sleeping just made him that excited.

He blocked out the part where the sleeping was in Snape's bed.

* * *

><p>A hearty breakfast filled with confused looks aimed at him by Ron and Hermione- presumably as to why he was so damned happy-looking- later, Harry was off to his first class of the day: Defense.<p>

That day's lesson was devoted to protective spells, spells which Harry was quite the pro at by this point, so it luckily didn't take much thought. His sleep-awakened brain was throwing itself into class with quite the amount of gusto.

It confused yet amazed him how he was able to sail through his NEWT year Defense class. It had been so long since he had had an actual Defense class, he had forgotten how much _fun_ it was. Then again, he had been learning advanced level spells and defensive techniques, whether from Hermione making him memorize books of them, his gaining knowledge to teach the DA, or merely on his own and instinctively during the war, his entire life, so he had a bit of a leg up.

That year, almost all of Harry's year that had survived the war had come back to finish out their schooling, so the seventh year class was much larger than usual. Still, as with all NEWT level classes, they were all shoved into a class together. So everyone from Neville Longbottom to Draco Malfoy to Luna Lovegood and Ernie Macmillan were taking the class together. The war being such a fresh wound to everyone, any animosity between the other houses and the remaining Slytherins, particularly Malfoy, was stamped out as quickly as it appeared to try and keep the peace.

Despite all of the politics it now called for, Defense Against the Dark Arts had once again become Harry's favorite class. Mainly because it was finally being taught again by his favorite teacher: Remus Lupin.

"Alright, everyone, put your wands away, that's enough fun for now. Ms. Weasley, if you could please free your brother from that hex?" Professor Lupin, looking far less haggard nowadays, was smiling brightly at them all from the front of the classroom.

"As you all may have sensed coming up from today's foray into protective spells, next week we will be looking more deeply into casting Patronuses." Over half of the classroom cheered. Mainly the part that was in the DA and therefore already knew how to cast that particular spell. Harry glowed a tad with pride.

The glow hiding how his face dropped with the word Patronus.

"All right, all right, calm down everyone. Now, I am aware that the members of a certain Army are already familiar with this form of protection spell, but can anyone tell me why you would be taught this spell, even after Dementors have been pulled out of guarding Azkaban and controlled by the Ministry?"

Harry had to resist the urge to just blurt out what he _really_ thought, it being a tad too colorful to say in a class, and instead raised his hand. Remus, with a smile, called on him, "Yes, Mr. Potter, do you believe you can tell me what good this spell can do?"

"Well, first, in all honesty, sir, the words 'controlled by the Ministry' don't normally bode well for anyone." There was some scattered laughter at the comment, none of it coming from the DA, "Patronuses can not only be used to fend off Dementors and other such dark creatures, but, thanks to a technique developed by the late, great Albus Dumbledore, can be used to send messages back and forth between individuals much faster and with a higher success rate than owls. They are also rather handy to have around if you are in need of company or if you don't have a torch on hand." Now that one had the class busting up laughing.

Remus was included in the laughter. "Haha, very good, Harry, 15 points to Gryffindor for that very adept description." Somewhere in the corner a Slytherin very badly covered up barking "Suck up" with a fake cough.

_Dumb ass, we're in a truce,_ Harry thought exasperatedly.

Harry turned to look who was stupid enough to try and spark the currently dampened flame of conflict between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and saw none other than Draco Malfoy, the Green General in the old Snakes vs. Lions war, telling the kid off. "Shut it, moron," he whispered angrily, cuffing his fellow Slytherin on the head.

_Hmm, guess Malfoy really has been trying to turn over a new leaf,_ Harry thought, turning back to Remus. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny, finally finishing apologizing to Ron for hexing him in class, smiling to herself and, every few seconds, glancing toward where he knew Malfoy was.

_Hmm… this is interesting…_

"Would anyone be able to tell the class what the main component to summoning a Patronus is?" Remus said it as cordially as he ever taught class. Harry truly was thankful his friend, for that's what Remus was now, his friend, was teaching this class.

Harry couldn't seem to let go of Ginny's reaction to Malfoy. He still hadn't actually talked with her since they split, getting the feeling he no longer knew his first real love.

She and Harry had broken up over the summer, and since then Ginny hadn't exactly been Harry's best friend. They never even spoke unless they had to for a class. Even then their conversations were short, stilted, and never began in a, "Hi," or anything like that. They were still friends, but that awkward stage had yet to leave. Harry thought it had more to do with _why_ he left Ginny than the actual leaving…

And Malfoy had been… well, distinctly _not_ Malfoy that year so far. Harry had yet to see the Slytherin insult someone or sneer, which was a very unusual thing for Slytherins to not do. Hell, Draco Malfoy hadn't even said so much as a hello to Harry, either, since he saved his arse during the war.

_Yeah, not so much as a 'thank you.' Save someone's life and they can't even show any gratitude for it…_

Harry ignored his thoughts telling him that that's exactly what he did with Snape for all of those years, because they were _completely_ different. Completely.

He figured he could worry about Ginny and Malfoy later. Right now, he had Patronuses to worry about.

Hermione raised her hand and, as usual, was called on and answered the question correctly.

"Exactly, Ms. Granger. 5 more points for Gryffindor, I do believe. Now, as she stated, it is the happy thought. You must be thinking of something happy, but not just _happy_, something that fills you with a warmth from head to toe. It has to engulf you in happiness, for that's what the spell feeds off of to create your Patronus."

Harry wondered, chuckling to himself, just how many more times Remus could fit the word 'happy' into such a short speech?

After managing to use "Happy" six more times, Remus had the class spend a few minutes coming up with memories. Harry on the other hand, spent the time trying to figure out how to best sneak away that night to go back for a round three of "Sleepover at Snape's."

"Harry, you're the only one without a smile on their face. Are you having trouble with the assignment?" There was a concerned question hidden _within_ that question, of course, but he still had to put on the teacher façade for the sake of the other students. Remus couldn't be seen showing favoritism.

"No, Professor, I'm fine, I'm just…" _incapable of casting a Patronus?_ _Can't tell him that,_ he thought, then made the mistake of looking into Remus' eyes. He hadn't been able to lie to those eyes since the war. "Having a bit of trouble coming up with anything… happy." He said it in a whisper that, if he weren't a werewolf, Lupin wouldn't have been able to hear.

"Ah. But I would think you would have the happiest memories out of all of us, Harry. The grand defeat of Voldemort, for instance?" Nearby students flinched at the name, most notably Malfoy. "Or maybe your little excursion on the dragon?" Remus' smile was tight, fixed to his face, wanting nothing more than to turn into one of concern.

He could see Remus resisting the urge to sit him down and talk everything out with him. For appearances sake and because he knew how much Harry hated being confronted about how… damaged he had come back as from the war, Remus would pretend everything was fine, that Harry had nothing to worry about, to try and get Harry to start believing it, while his real intent to check up on him was hidden away in the most mundane of questions. That werewolf was the captain of discretion.

Remus was trying to help, he knew, but Patronuses had been impossible for him since the incident with the Dementor during the final battle where his DA friends had to come to his rescue. That moment when he was a second away from just giving in, letting that Dementor kiss him…

He couldn't think of anything happy because that always led to memories from the war. Those were the only things that ever came to mind. All roads led to suppressed memories, it would seem. He hated it.

They just weren't happy memories anymore. Not when every time he thinks of them, of anything, it all leads right back to the same thing: that bloody nightmare.

The one he had had a reprieve from reliving over and over again the night before, yet wasn't able to escape in the day.

If the nightmare hadn't been grounded in memory, Harry would have been fine. He would have been able to tuck it away in the back of his mind like he used to. But… it was.

Every time he tried to think of something, even so much as _thought _the spell to cast his familiar stag, those red eyes would fill his vision. That would be all he could see. Nothing but two red circles with slits for pupils. He would hear that high, menacing laughter and all chance of him reuniting with his pronged Patronus would disappear.

He was so lost in thought, the next thing he knew Remus was dismissing the class.

Harry packed up his things as quickly as possible, sensing what was coming.

"Harry, could you wait a moment?" Remus asked, catching him right as he was about to leave.

Holding in a groan, he sent a pleading look to Ron.

"I guess I'll meet up with you in the common room, unless you _need me for something_?" he told Ron and Hermione, hoping they would get it. They nodded, saying no, they didn't need him and they would see him later, and left, hand in hand, with no fight whatsoever.

_Where have the good old days of them getting me off the hook gone?_ Harry thought to himself, walking up to his favorite teacher.

And person he most didn't want to talk with hours after having woken up next to his Potions Professor, for the second night in a row.

He loved Lupin, but he hated how he had the tendency to see right through him.

"So, Harry, how have you been?" Remus leaned against the edge of his desk, motioning for Harry to take a seat.

Harry, taking the hint, sat on the desk across from Lupin. "I've been exactly the same as the last time you asked, Remus."

Remus chuckled. "I know I seem like I nag, but it's only because I worry. You seemed… preoccupied in class today, and, well, you can't blame me for worrying about my son's Godfather, now can you?" Well, he did have a point there.

"Speaking of which, how is the Little Lupin doing? His hair still blue?" Harry laughed, remembering the last time he saw his Godson. The kid had sneezed and his hair turned an electric blue that he couldn't help thinking Dumbledore would have loved. Probably on a hat.

Remus laughed with him. "Haha, you have a good memory, Harry. He's been driving Andromeda crazy. Every time she turns around he looks different. Being the proper pureblood she is, she especially hates it when he turns his hair blue which, of course, is his favorite thing to do. He seems to be as attached to that hair as his mother is to her own short, pink locks." They laughed, both loving how quirky Remus' wife was. "Tonks is proud of him showing so much skill at such a young age, and since I'm rather certain Teddy is doing it on purpose just to get a rise out of his Grandmother, my inner Marauder can't help but share that pride." Remus beamed when talking about his son. Harry was never more thankful for seeing anything as incorrectly as he had Remus and Tonks being dead the night of the war. Though, it wasn't his fault the hex they had been hit with caused them to appear dead for hours afterward.

Remus came out of the war a changed man in every positive way possible. He had his family, a wife and child, and had been hired back at Hogwarts as soon as the position had opened. With the help of Tonks and Teddy, Remus had even stopped brooding as much as he used to. All traces of the scared man Harry had bullied into going back to his family had disappeared, replaced with a man who had decided that he finally deserved to make the most of his life.

Harry couldn't help but think his father would be proud of the man his friend had become, especially of the son he bore. Strong trickster DNA having passed itself on to the youngest Lupin.

Feeling as if he had successfully changed the subject, Harry mirrored the proud father's smile. He was the proud Godfather, after all. "Well, it'll be nice to know the Marauder spirit will indeed live on. I was beginning to think my Godson was going to take after his Grandmother." Harry scrunched his face, laughing with Remus.

"Well, I know for certain he won't be taking after either of Andromeda's sisters." If Harry hadn't known Remus well enough to look for the slight turning down of his mouth, he would have thought Remus was just throwing something out there for a lark.

He had started doing that since the war, Remus Lupin. He would keep everything he said on the surface, almost afraid to stir up what was underneath. He still noticed everything, still had his same opinions, he just tended to not be as outspoken about them as he used to be.

Something that both saddened and annoyed Harry. He wasn't Remus unless he was pointing things out to him that would never have noticed without him. It would be like Luna suddenly saying Nargles didn't exist. It just wasn't right.

"Hey, there's no way that could happen. Not with Tonks and Moony raising him. He'll be all grown up and giving you all hell in no time, don't you worry. I'll make sure he honors the Marauder title he inherited." Harry grinned, true to his word. Ever since Fred's death, there had been far too little chaos and excitement in everyone's lives. They needed a prankster in the making, and Teddy and his electric blue hair was just that.

"Well, as I said, Harry, if there is anything that will live on forever, it will be the Marauder spirit." Remus was cheered up already. _His moods are switching rather quickly, _Harry thought,_ it must be near the full moon._ "I was under the impression that Marauder spirit had passed to you as well, Harry. Someday you'll pass it on to your children, don't worry."

Harry let out a strained laugh. Yeah, his children, right.

Remus looked at him curiously_. Damn your ability to see right through me_, Harry cursed in his head.

"Something wrong, Harry?"

How exactly did Harry go about answering that question? "No, not really, Remus. Just… it's nothing, really."

Remus' eyes had taken on that quality Dumbledore's had had. That looking into your soul or reading your mind quality that made anyone looking into them slightly uncomfortable. _It must be something about tired fatherhood, _Harry thought.

"I have known you for almost six years now, Harry, and I can assure you that nothing has ever been just nothing with you. There's more behind your response, and while I would prefer that you open up to me and let me help you, I can understand your need to keep your secrets."

Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Thanks, Remus." Harry grabbed his bag and stood to leave.

"I really would _prefer_ that you open up to me, though, Harry. That you at least know that, if you need anything, if anything has changed in your life, I'm someone you can confide in. After all, I've certainly kept my fair share of secrets over the years, what's a few more?" Remus smiled warmly, and Harry almost gave in.

Almost.

"Remus, there actually is something I've been meaning to tell you." The werewolf leaned in a little closer, "You're doing an amazing job at being a father, and you'll only get better as Teddy gets older."

Remus chuckled, "I should have known you wouldn't tell me." Harry smiled back at him and shrugged as he walked out of the room, Defense having been a double-period and lunch sounding rather delicious at the moment. "You're just like your parents, Harry, always playing everything close to the chest when it really matters." Remus called it after him, he just caught it as he was walking out the door and, once out of range of the classroom, he stopped, taking in what Moony had said.

What makes him think he knows what really matters or what my business is? Harry was troubled by what Remus had said but he couldn't figure out why.

Remus had said many things to Harry during the war, particularly about how poor a job he always did at doing the _smart_ thing at the right time even if it would put someone's life in danger. The fight they had about Harry Disarming Stan Shunpike that night so many months ago still rang in his ears. He knew Remus thought he was still that naïve kid he was back then, a year that felt far longer ago, but Harry _had_ grown. He had hardened. He still wasn't about to go around cursing people or casting a Killing Curse even if his life depended on it, but he had grown up. Just enough, anyway, to fully understand why Remus had been so hard on him.

He had been afraid for his life. Afraid that Harry would do something stupid, screw up _one_ time, and then everything would be over. His friends' sacrifices would have been for nothing, Harry's parents' deaths would be nothing but a failed rescue attempt.

As much as Harry may understand it now, it still didn't make what Remus said in Grimmauld Place that night any less meaningful in Harry's eyes. He had ran away, deserted his family, got them back thanks to Harry kicking him in the arse, and then gone off and almost died, seemingly determined to pull a Sirius, came a hairs breadth away from leaving his son an orphan. Only, unlike Lily and James Potter, Remus and Tonks Lupin's deaths would have been worthless. Sure, they fought for a world where their son could be safe and kept from persecution, but in Harry's eyes, what was it worth if Teddy didn't have his parents there to share it with him?

He saw too many orphans come out of the war, he wasn't about to condone the creation of more.

_This is probably part of what Remus meant when he said I keep everything important close to me_, Harry thought, scoffing, thoughts of food gone. _But why had he brought my parents into this? What did they ever keep secret?_

Officially irritated, appetite gone and his next class not for another few hours, Harry set off for the Room of Requirement, thinking of nothing but a possible nap (even if no actual sleeping occurs) and being alone.

He was getting used to that. Being alone.

He had been since the war.

* * *

><p>It was 10 o'clock and Snape was pacing around his sitting room again.<p>

This time, it wasn't over whether or not to take a potion or even not being able to sleep. No, this time, for the first time since the damned war ended, the pacing was because he wasn't sure what Potter would do.

Would he come back, accept his offer, or would he leave Snape to pace all night, worrying about whether or not he would show up? Was this all just some sort of elaborate ruse for Potter to humiliate him? Maybe even get him fired?

_No, _he thought_, Potter is not that intelligent or devious to have been able to put something like this together. No, I'll just have to wait and see if Potter accepts my telling him he could come back_.

He _had_ invited him back that morning. It had shocked him when he did it. If he hadn't heard his voice and felt the words grumble out of his own chest, he wouldn't have believed it.

What had possessed him to invite the damned nuisance back? They had agreed, if it hadn't worked then they would never speak of it again and Potter would stay out of his hair forever.

Unfortunately for Snape, or fortunately depending on your take on things, he had, in fact, worked. It had worked a tad _too_ well. Snape had woken up feeling well rested, if a tad annoyed he had slept in his cloak. He had been alert and focused all day, not once snapping at someone who didn't completely deserve it. By Snape standards, at least.

He had to admit, Potter's idea was brilliant. Each one of their sleeplessness causes seemed to be cured by the same thing, if in different ways. Snape apparently needed something outside of himself to focus on to keep his mind from racing, and Potter needed someone there in the event of a nightmare or if he needed- Snape shuddered at the thought- _comfort_ while he was sleeping.

As much sense as that made, Snape still couldn't quite believe he had given the Gryffindor access to his rooms. He had gone and yelled at Albus' portrait for helping Potter break into his quarters, as much good as that _didn't _do him, it at least made him feel more accomplished as it pertained to the situation.

_But allowing him to stay another night? How long would this go on? How long could it? _They both needed sleep, he knew that, but at what cost?

There was a knock on the door.

Quickly, ignoring the fact that he wasn't wearing robes, was actually in his usual t-shirt and- he cringed at Potter seeing him in them- pajama bottoms, Snape went to open the door for the Gryffindor.

With one last thought spared as to whether or not allowing this to continue happening was, in fact, a good idea, Snape opened up his door to let the black-haired menace barge into his life once again.

* * *

><p>Harry, having had quite the crap day after his little conversation with Remus, was ready for nothing more than to sleep. He had been snapping at people all day due to his little issue of no longer being able to turn his angry switch back to its "Off" position.<p>

Huddled in his four-poster, Harry waited till he heard the last of his dorm mates' snoring start. It was Neville, him always being the last one to fall asleep (aside from himself) since the war. Harry thought for a minute about just how much his friend had been through in the war. He knew he had been tortured by the Carrows, having taken over the duty of mastering the DA in Harry's absence and leading the rebellion against them. Harry scoffed at himself. _He didn't take over for anyone, the DA chose him for it. Neville was always meant to lead everyone, it just took him a while to grow into his role._

Harry, shaking the rather spiteful thoughts from his mind, waiting to be fully formed, knowing it had nothing to do with Neville, he was a great person and a wonderful friend (who also had had an essential role in the destruction of Voldemort), but more with his general attitude about life at that moment. Knowing that he got that way when he was tired, Harry grabbed his cloak and his Map.

_Time to fix the tired problem._

It was a few minutes later that Harry stood in front of the wall leading to Snape's rooms. He took a deep breath, still unsure as to what he would find when he opened that door, and growled, "Bloody Gryffindors."

The door appeared and, before he talked himself out of it, and with a bit of giddy excitement, he knocked on the door.

Snape answered the door, motioning for him to enter, and Harry did a double take. The menacing Potions Professor was wearing muggle clothes. Not only muggle clothes, but a black t-shirt and equally black pajama pants.

He walked into the sitting room, feeling inadequate. Snape shut the door behind him as Harry looked down at his own attire. His usual scruffy trainers, worn out Gryffindor red pajama pants and old, baggy shirt he had thrown on back in his dorm.

He felt distinctly shabby compared to Snape.

Pulling himself out of his stupor, he followed the pajama-clad Snape to the room he now knew was his bedroom.

Snape hadn't said a single word to him since telling him he could come back earlier that day. Harry wasn't sure what to make of the silence, but figured it was better than him yelling at him.

Snape walked up to his bed, looking awkward for a moment, unsure. Harry could practically already hear him kicking him out. Finally, he nodded and motioned for him to get in bed.

As with the night before, he crawled into the bed, taking his trainers off beforehand this time, and Snape followed afterward, extinguishing the lights.

His head on a pillow that smelled like Snape, a smell he had never actually noticed before, let alone categorized as belonging to the Potions Professor, he fell asleep, not a single word exchanged with Snape.

A routine was born that night, that would help both men more than they could ever have imagined as they slowly drifted off into sleep, unconscious of them having moved closer to one another, like magnets seeking comfort.

Harry Potter and Severus Snape slept dreamless sleeps, neither fully realizing it but each feeling safe in the others' company.

* * *

><p>AN: See what I mean about the random angst?<p>

Well, one more chapter down! :D

… did I forget to mention Remus is in this fic, too? I may have forgot to mention that anywhere… well, now you know! XD

And what's with Malfoy? xD

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. If you didn't, or if you actually did, care to drop a review quite possibly? ;D

Until the next chapter, I hope you don't hate me for this one,

ForeverJynxed


	6. Annoyances, Scars and Bruises

DISCLAIMER: I do not own or even claim to EVER own anything related to Harry Potter or its affiliates. It all belongs to Jo Rowling and the rights are still the sole property of WB and Scholastic and whatever other companies are in charge of distributing HP books, movies and whatnot. I am only a simple fangirl who had an idea and felt the need to write it down and share it with other fangirls who are of similarly-minded types.

**Oh, and, in case that one didn't get the gist across: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING! Only the laptop on which this was written and a slight case of insomnia. XD**

**Insomnia Has Its Perks**

_AN: I won't blame you if several of you want to burn me in effigy… it's understandable. XP  
>But! I'm back! :D I owe it to you all to update and prove that I am NOT abandoning these stories! I just got really caught up with school and NaNoWriMo and trying to finish <strong>that<strong> story, plays, and other things you are all already bored of hearing about._

_So, here's my promise to you:  
>This chapter is short, but will be followed shortly by another one as I had to split a faaar too long actual chapter into two so I could give you all an update that didn't take several hours to finish. XD Also it's 5am… so I'm not even positive I'm actually conscious right now. This could all be some strange dream…<em>

_Wow, odd tangent was odd. SO!_

_Here's hoping it's as satisfying as I hope it is. Possibly enough for you to not all murder me?_

_With no further ado, I give you the loooooooooooooooong overdue next chapter!_

_I hope it can tide you all over and also prove my love for you all,_

_See ya'll in the end, as usual,_

_Yours truly,_

_ForeverJynxed_

* * *

><p>Chapter 6: Annoyances, Scars and Bruises<p>

_Dunderheads, the lot of them!, _his thoughts fumed, _I can't take being around these _children_ any longer!_

Snape stalked out of the now insufferable Staff Room, grumbling to himself.

If one more person, Professor or otherwise, informed Severus Snape of how well rested he looked, he was going to explode.

"Blasted teachers at this school never know when to keep their overly loquacious mouths shut." He snarled under his breath as he all but stomped the entire way back to his office. Several groups of first years from assorted Houses scattered like ants as he passed them in the hallway.

It only made him feel slightly better about the situation. Which was saying something, what with scaring first years being the usual highlight to his week.

The weekly Sunday staff meeting that Minerva had instated when she took over the role of Headmistress had gone about as well as usual. As a whole, now that everyone had in some way forgiven or chosen to forget their hatred for Snape, the faculty got along swimmingly. Most of them having taught or been taught by one another at some point, there was a level of respect and camaraderie within their ranks. After all, they were their only allies in the war that was teaching teenagers.

This week, however, Fillius and Pomona had been having a grand old time swinging each topic for discussion ("All in favor of new upholstery for the Hufflepuff common room couches?" "Neville Longbottom, fluke or proof that certain students can, in fact, become supremely talented seemingly overnight?" "Why would the dunderhead Longbottom ever be a topic of discussion in these meetings?" "Motion to revoke Severus' right to insult students openly in front of, well, anyone?") which were usual faire for these meetings, back to Snape.

More specifically, how Snape didn't look nearly as unconsciously menacing as he used to. Blathering on about how "rejuvenated" he seemed and all associated malarkey.

It was when Hagrid had asked, "When'd th' broomstick fal' outta Snape's arse?" that Snape found he could no longer force himself to associate with the roomful of snickering adolescents trapped in adult bodies.

The blind truth of it was that the population of Hogwarts had noticed Snape looked vaguely different, decided he had been attempting to "soften up," and had used this blatant lie as an equally fabricated weakness in the Potions Professor.

A weakness that he was determined to squash in their minds, due to its ability to annoy him to no end.

Incidents of students and staff willingly attempting to strike up a conversation with the Potions Professor had increased exponentially with each passing hour of the past fortnight.

However misinformed the masses at Hogwarts may be, he couldn't dispute that they had the cause correct. For he could only attribute the change to his increase in amount of sleep.

Namely that he was actually getting some.

Snape rolled his eyes at his thoughts' wording. _No one mentioned a side effect of sleep was seeing an innuendo in every syllable one speaks or thinks,_ his thoughts ground out sarcastically.

Perhaps it was that sleep was only possible for him when actually sleeping with another. _An unfortunate turn of phrase, yet the only one that truly fits, _he thought_, though I still refuse to hear Potter speak it ever again._

In fact, it was seeming as if he were refusing to hear Potter so much as speak ever again. At least if their nights were anything to judge by.

Each night went as that first Sunday. Potter would knock on his door, clad in his shabby night clothes, Snape would let him in, and they would silently walk to the bed, extinguish the torches, and fall asleep with no sound but that of their breathing.

Exactly a week from that first day, not a word had yet to pass between them.

The next week, the same silence had become a sort of unspoken agreement.

Snape couldn't honestly say he found that thought to be a negative one, either. The best Potter in his mind was a silent Potter.

Though, a silent Potter was one he was rarely presented with.

He felt a slight tug at one of his sleeves and turned to see a fourth year Ravenlcaw trying to get his attention.

While he was stalking down the hallway looking angry.

Obviously, this Ravenclaw had a death wish.

"Um, Professor Snape, sir… You look very well rested." In the usual, intelligent, Ravenclaw manner, the student then did exactly what was necessary for them to continue living: ran away.

"Bloody kids and their asinine betting." Snape growled as he followed the sound of the retreating Ravenclaw to where it met up with a group of gasping and giggling students.

Snape needed to do something to repair his image, and soon. There was no way things could end well for him if they were allowed to continue in their current state.

He needed a good Snape snap, or everyone may stop being deathly terrified of him.

And that was something he just could not stomach.

* * *

><p>Harry was getting tired of telling his friends he wasn't tired.<p>

For one, it was getting repetitive. Secondly, it only made Ron less likely to talk to him because thirdly it made Hermione only worry over the conundrum she had deemed Harry to be.

Since that first day he stupidly remarked he felt rested, Hermione had yet to stop badgering him. Everywhere he went, in classes, the common room, even the Quidditch pitch, there was no escaping her constant disbelieving questions and her fretting over him and the steadily disappearing bags under his eyes.

_She sure has changed her tune from happy to concerned rather quickly_, he had thought that first day things had changed. Now his only thoughts were of the silence he would finally be afforded when he went to Snape's later that night.

"It's not that I'm not happy, Harry, I am," she replied exasperatedly to his accusing her of being on the wrong side of this argument, "it's just that it's so sudden! One morning I wake up and you look refreshed. You can't deny how odd that is after all of these months, Harry! You go from walking around like the living dead, to energized enough to start applying yourself in your coursework! It's a complete breakthrough in your recovery! Don't you see?" She was emphatic, smiling and waiting for him to understand her.

Whereas _he_ was wondering how much longer the trek to lunch will seem with Hermione attached to his hip. He looked around frantically, as he had taken to doing that week, for any sign of Ron, his best friend and only way to get 'Mione off his back. That same best friend who seemed to be strangely absent these past few days.

_Probably avoiding Hermione's hounding me at all costs,_ Harry's thoughts grumbled. _Figures Ron would only like Hermione's worrying when it was aimed at Ron._

He looked back at Hermione and realized she was still waiting for an answer. _Shit._

Her enthusiastic smile slid from her face to become a judging frown and her hands went to her hips.

_I'm screwed._

"Harry James Potter, have you been listening to a word I've been saying?" She fixed him with a glare that Molly Weasley would be proud of.

There was that use of his full name that she had gotten rather adept at using lately. He laughed whenever she used it on Ron, but it had a completely different effect when it was being used on him.

He sighed, "Yes, 'Mione, I have heard every word you have said. All week." He sighed again, "And no, I don't know what any of that means." He had proved he was listening and she seemed appeased. "I don't normally go looking for deeper meaning in the events of my life nowadays other than that I'm still living it."

She still sighed at him, shaking her head, her bushy brown hair bouncing slightly around her cheeks. "Why is it you never see anything when it's right there in front of you?"

"Far sighted," he quipped, pointing to his glasses.

"Oh, ha ha," she said sarcastically, smiling and shoving him playfully. She then blessedly resumed the trek to the Great Hall.

Harry could practically hear the food calling to him, wondering vaguely if this was how Ron felt all the time…

"As I was saying," Harry groaned at her being her usual self and never truly letting a subject drop, unfortunate memories of what his Firebolt was put through in his third year now flying through his head. "This sudden being able to sleep, it made an unbidden appearance, right?" Harry nodded, knowing full well he was lying to his friend. Again. "Well, then, it must be your mind working everything out for itself. It's your first step in recovering. You are finally beginning to get over the emotional scars given to you in the war. You're healing." She finished talking with a triumphant look as they entered the Great Hall.

A flash of memory, of that room being used to house and organize the dead, of crying families and deceased loved ones. Of friends he would never see again, his last sight of them being that of their lifeless, some even mutilated, corpses…

The memory changed to that of his nightmare, shifting perfectly, like water flowing from one identical river of pain to another, the bodies were piled up, his mountain of dead he left in his wake, the ones he should have saved.

He suddenly wasn't very hungry anymore.

Harry turned to his friend. He knew she meant well, only wanted to see him happy and healthy.

But she was even blinder to his problems than she claimed he was.

"I just remembered, I told Kreacher I would spend lunch with him in the kitchens. I'll just eat there, no reason to miss the opportunity to catch up with your other friends who aren't me. Later, Hermione." He answered each unspoken question quickly before she had the chance to get a word in edgewise.

The House Elf excuse always worked with the founder of SPEW and she let him walk off, taking a seat at the Gryffindor table next to her boyfriend who must have sensed the constant questioning had paused for the moment, for he was actually waving Harry over.

Harry shook his head, silently telling Ron that he wasn't going to sit. He turned, not being deterred from his task, and exited the Great Hall, just catching a small, worried smile on Hermione's face as she watched him leave.

_No matter how much she may be wishing for it, I'm not getting over the war, _he thought, unsure as to where he was going but knowing only that it was anywhere but that room that was so full of terrible memories.

_You can't just _get over_ a war._ His hand went reflexively to the lightning bolt shape on his forehead. _Some scars are never meant to heal._

* * *

><p>Snape was sitting in his usual chair when there was a knock on his door, right at the usual time.<p>

As usual, Snape took the proper moment to be stunned at Potter's ability to be on time for anything, let alone for however many nights in a row it had been.

He stood as he usually did, the only sounds that of his house slippers against the stone floor and his sleep pants swishing as he walked, and crossed to open the door for Potter.

There the teen stood, in his usual, ratty sleep clothes, tucking his Invisibility Cloak into the bag he tended to bring with him, along with the map, about which he was still irritated with Albus.

It struck Snape as odd that these were the behaviors that had become the norm to him. If anyone had told him even a month ago that he would be having Potter in his rooms every night for a sleepover he would have hexed them so severely they would never tell such a terrible joke ever again.

Now? He stepped aside to let Potter into his rooms, closing the door behind the lightning bolt-scarred teen.

As with every night before, the time passed in silence as Potter set his bag down on the couch that housed their first nightly encounter, that damned blanket still sitting where Snape didn't have the motivation to move it from, and the two walked into Snape's rooms. They nodded at one another, the only real acknowledgement they allowed and the closest to actual speech they ever got, and climbed into their respective sides of the bed.

Snape actively stopped himself from calling the half of his mattress that Potter happened to always choose to sleep in "Potter's side of the bed." In fact, he actively stopped himself from referring to Potter in any way, particularly expecting Potter to come back the next day.

He was convinced every morning that Potter would have gotten such a good night's sleep that he would simply stop appearing the next night. Or that Potter would have come to his senses far faster than the "wizened" Professor had.

Snape settled himself on his pillow, clearly hearing Potter doing the same to his left. He had to be honest, he was beginning to believe Potter's claim of "I haven't slept in months due to nightmares" to be nothing more than a load of hogwash. Programmed to see the worst in everyone, Snape was not an idiot and couldn't help but notice that Potter had yet to have any such nightmares since that first night on his couch.

Snape, his pride nagging at him to kick the Gryffindor out, had yet to, though. For he had to admit, the teen, lying or no, was the only thing keeping him from passing out over one of his cauldrons.

He lay there, as usual, listening to Potter's breathing. It was uneven, every few breaths coming out a sigh. _So, Potter's not asleep, either,_ Snape thought. Potter always seemed to try and, for lack of a better word, bask in the silence. That was the only explanation Snape had for Potter not falling straight to sleep, as the exhausted teen was supposed to. If anything, Potter's breathing would hitch or speed up slightly at times, and Snape almost wished the torches were still on so he could Legillimens the teen.

_What the hell is Potter thinking about that has him that worried?_ Snape would lay there, caught up in the mystery that was Potter, and by the time said mystery's breathing evened out, signaling sleep, Snape would be so focused on his wonderment that he would slip silently into sleep without even realizing it.

This was their true routine. The inner workings of what allowed them both to drift into dreamland soundlessly with no interruptions.

Until that night.

Snape was soundly asleep, dreams as black and blank as they had miraculously been since the beginning of his little arrangement with Potter began. As suddenly and seamlessly as he had fallen asleep, he was shocked awake by the scream being emitted by the body next to him.

He jolted awake, ready and prepared for anything. Anything but a fist connecting with his ribs and knocking the wind out of him.

Angered and having had his memory of where he was and who in the hell was screaming literally punched into him, Snape snarled and grabbed Potter's arms, which were flailing about randomly, apparently having perfectly knocked into the Potions Master by pure chance.

Choking for air, Snape released one of Potter's arms (almost getting a fist to the face for his trouble) to grab his wand and flick the lights on. He could now clearly see the extent to which Potter was ensconced in his nightmare. If Snape hadn't known better, he would have thought Potter was fighting off a horde of invisible attackers.

Somehow managing to catch his breath, Snape began doing exactly the opposite of what his first instinct was (read: Hexing the blasted lion), and instead set his wand back on his side table and steadily, and as calmly as was possible through his sporadic gasps for breath, coaxed Potter back into consciousness. It worked about as well as it had the last time, only Potter managed to come back into awareness with far less control over himself than before.

Potter, eyes wide open now, looked around the room, his emerald eyes wildly scanning every inch around him, and continued to try and fight off Snape.

Potter looked even more the frightened, cornered animal. Terrified and thinking that everything around it is a threat.

At that moment, "everything around him" consisted of Snape. And the teen was doing quite a good job at dealing with the threat.

With a sigh, Snape shook Potter by the rather firm grip he had on his arms, getting those crazed, wandering eyes to focus on him.

As if someone had turned the fire down on a potion, Potter seemed to shrink in on himself and go into a simmer.

Sweat was dripping down the teen's forehead, the nightmare apparently being of a much larger magnitude than either of the previous ones Snape had witnessed. Snape could feel a thin line of his own dripping down his cheek.

Their labored breathing echoed off of the dungeon walls. Snape could almost swear he heard the invisible horde Potter was fighting off, chained and held within the echoes.

Potter took several slow, deep breaths. He seemed to be having far more trouble with calming down than Snape was, which is certainly saying something. "Um… Snape? Could you, um… It's kinda difficult to breathe with you… ya know, on top of me?"

Snape's arms flew away from Potter like he had electrocuted him. He settled himself on the side of the bed, feet on the floor, sitting straight up, trying to gain back whatever composure he had just lost.

Finally composing himself, he only slightly registered that that was the first thing they had said to one another in fourteen days. They hadn't even spoken during Potions. Snape actually sort of missed being able to snark at Potter. _Perhaps that's what is making everyone think I've gone soft,_ Snape thought, slowly rubbing his ribs, inspecting them. Potter had definitely managed to injure him. He could feel a bruise already forming just over his third rib.

Potter groaned and Snape heard and felt the bed move. Potter seemed to be mirroring his actions, yet again.

_Didn't this just happen_, Snape thought, taking a deep breath and concluding that the rib must not be broken. Either that or his personal threshold for withstanding pain had heightened.

Snape stood, intent upon heading to his personal stores to get his injury dealt with before he was in any lasting pain. Snape hated being in pain when it wasn't completely necessary. One of the perks of no longer working for the Dark Lord was the ability to take the odd pain potion every now and again. Sadistic bastard always kept his consumers of death on a strict regiment of "let me watch you suffer."

Apparently his movement was far more sudden than he had realized, that or Potter was just far more skittish than he had realized, probably the latter, because the moment he moved Potter seemed to leap out of his skin and go immediately into a fighting stance, complete with wand in hand.

Taking the deserved moment of awe at Potter's reflexes and ability to find his wand, for even Snape was unable to tell exactly when Potter grabbed it, Snape held out his hands in the universal sign of "I'm not going to harm you, idiot," and drawled, "Really, Potter, at some point you are going to have to stop trying to kill people when they help you. Not everyone is as forgiving as I am."

Potter's face went blank and he dropped his wand arm like all of the bones had disappeared from it (_Yet again,_ Snape inwardly smirked, remembering Lockheart's pathetically miscast spell, and the earful he wanted to give him but the bastard managed to avoid by always being "busy" afterward). His eyes were trained on his bare feet, which Snape knew must be frozen from being unprotected on the cold dungeon floor, as he sheepishly apologized. Or, rather, something to the effect of apologizing. "Shit, I did it again. Sorry, Snape. I- Sometimes the dream doesn't quite end and I- It- You see, I've been known to- Well, atta- no, that's not a good word for it." Potter was flustered to say the least.

"Potter, if you're not going to use complete sentences, for instance less stuttering and more subjects and prepositions, then you might as well shut up now." That snapped the teen out of it.

Potter's eyes set in a glare as he angrily bent to pick up his trainers from the ground by the bed. "Why don't you take a bit of your own advice, Snape?" he snapped.

Snape gaped as Potter then barged out of his room, the effect being lessened by the fact that he was not only in pajamas but barefoot and ever-so-slightly shaking due in part to the cold and in part to whatever his subconscious had just thrown at him in his sleep. Add in the pair of scruffy shoes in his hand and the total effect left much to be desired.

Snape rolled his eyes at the dramatics and, in a few steps of his much longer legs due to his being just that much taller than Potter, caught up with him. "Potter, now is most definitely not the time for one of your infamous outbursts and overreactions."

Potter had his hand on the doorknob when he spun around to find himself face to face with Snape. "Overreaction? If you had seen what I just bloody saw-! You would- We can't all be emotionally numb arseholes like you, Snape!" Snape held his own, Potter yelling in his face being something he was anything but unaccustomed to.

Snape merely resisted with all of his might the urge to strangle the boy, ignored the last sentence and stated, "Well, then, you shall just have to tell me what you 'just bloody saw' so we can both go back to sleep."

Potter was dumbstruck. He opened his mouth to retort, realized what Snape had said, and his mouth just remained open. Snape thought for a moment that he had broken Potter.

Tired of being stared at, Snape sighed. "The way I see it, Potter, you have two options. Either storm out and neither of us will sleep, or you can close your mouth and go back into the bedroom and calm yourself while I go and fetch a few things from my stores. Which will it be?"

Potter's jaw snapped shut and he made a beeline for Snape's room.

_Drama queen,_ Snape rolled his eyes and went into his stores for his bruise salve. He had turned to leave when a thought occurred and he doubled back for a small vial.

Being rather used to the cool of the dungeon floors, Snape's feet stepped calmly back into his room. There he found Potter sitting at the head of the bed, using the pillow as a seat, his legs bent and his arms hugging his knees to him. His head was down, Potter having completely folded in on himself.

Snape stopped in the doorway for a moment, taking in the scared little kid Potter seemed to be in that moment. Which led to thoughts of the childhoods neither of them really ever were allowed to have… Growling himself out of the moment of sentimentalism, he pushed off of the doorway and made his way to Potter.

Potter looked up when Snape walked over to him, silently holding out the vial he had gone back for.

Potter slowly, hesitantly, reached out his arm to take the vial, "What is it?"

"Poison, obviously." Snape drawled sarcastically.

Potter had the audacity to stop his arm's travel to the vial and goggle at him. "W-what?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Always expecting me to poison you, aren't you, Potter? It's nothing more than a Calming Draught." _Imbecile._

Potter still looked skeptical as he took the vial. "I doubt it'll work. No offense, but these things have stopped affecting me at all lately."

Snape made a mental note to store that bit of information away and simply smirked, "That is because you have yet to take any of my own personal brew. Just drink it, Potter. You shall see."

Potter downed it without another word. Snape waited a moment, smirking even bigger at Potter's look of, "See? It didn't work," as he waited.

Suddenly, Potter seemed to deflate, to calm so wholly he actually picked up the blanket at his feet on pure reflex and settled back on the pillow on which he was previously sitting.

"Better?"

Potter scoffed, "Don't look too proud, Snape. Merlin knows your ego can't take much more added to it. It'll explode faster than a first year potion." The effect of that last sentence was lost in Potter's deep yawn.

Snape chuckled, "This is most certainly an instance of the Potter calling the kettle black." Potter rolled his eyes at his pun and curled back into bed, on his usual side, leaving Snape standing in the middle of his room, listening to Potter's breathing evening out as sleep claimed him quickly due to the strength of Snape's potion.

_Blasted child,_ Snape walked to the bed, intent on following suit, but was stopped when he bent to sit by the stabbing pain in his side.

_Bugger it all._ He looked to the vial he still held in his hand._ Nice going, Severus, getting so caught up in helping the damn kid that you forgot to tend to your own wounds first,_ his thoughts growled.

_Perhaps you really are going soft._

Snape sighed and stalked to his bathroom, cursing Potter the whole way.

Still, while waiting for the salve to take effect, he checked in on Potter every few minutes to make sure he was sleeping soundly.

_Can't have Potter having a nervous breakdown in my quarters,_ he explained it away as best he could under the circumstances.

Later, he crawled back into bed, bruise-free, and did one last check that Potter was asleep before falling so himself.

* * *

><p>AN: Aaaaaaaaaand here we are again. I know it was short and sort of… actionless, in every sense of the word, but it was the only spot where I could split up the "Monster Chapter" I had tried to create where it would make sense… and since I'm still working on the end of that one, I needed to send you all something.<p>

Perhaps one may send in a little review? One, tiny little review?

Also, I know Snape's a little **too** levelheaded right now, but with time, young ones, all shall be explained. ;D

Forgive me?

ForeverJynxed


	7. Stampedes, Friends and Thank Yous

DISCLAIMER: I do not own or even claim to EVER own anything related to Harry Potter or its affiliates. It all belongs to Jo Rowling and the rights are still the sole property of WB and Scholastic and whatever other companies are in charge of distributing HP books, movies and whatnot. I am only a simple fangirl who had an idea and felt the need to write it down and share it with other fangirls who are of similarly-minded types.

**Oh, and, in case that one didn't get the gist across: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING! Only the laptop on which this was written and a slight case of insomnia. XD**

**Insomnia Has Its Perks**

_AN: Hi, everyone! (continues to dodge the rotten fruit) Ah, I see you all sharpened your pitchforks. … lovely.  
>Here I am with another chapter! This took quite a lot longer than I thought to accomplish for a myriad of reasons. One of which was a show I was in taking up all of my spare time, another of which was that the chapter sort of… got out of hand.<em>

_I mean like waaaaaaaaaaay out of hand. It took on a life of its own and wanted to be 9,000 different things and I really hope it makes any sense whatsoever._

_This is yet another 4am posting. Honestly, the middle of the night is the only time I get anything done. Haha._

_I honestly hope you like this chapter. It isn't the best one so far, but it isn't terrible. Just… out of hand._

_As per usual, I shall see you at the end,_

_If any of you make it there._

_Yours truly,_

_ForeverJynxed_

* * *

><p>Chapter 7: Stampedes, Friends and Thank Yous<p>

Harry couldn't cast a Patronus.

Still.

"Alright, everyone, let's break into groups and work on casting your Patronuses once more." Remus was his usual peppy self but with the hint of shabbiness he had back in Harry's Third Year. _Well, he should be, the full moon's tomorrow night, _Harry thought, trying to catch Lupin's attention.

_I sure as hell hope Remus will let me get out of this like he did last time._ Harry was exhausted, feeling like he hadn't slept a wink. Sure, Snape's Calming Draught had worked perfectly, had been just what Harry needed, but Harry still felt like his sleeping had just been a wonderful hallucination.

Harry still couldn't quite figure out why Snape had gone and wasted his private stores of potions on him. That was the second time the Potions Master had come to his rescue without being asked. If anything, Harry had only yelled at him and tried to storm out both times, but Snape insisted on patching him up, mentally and physically.

Old Snape, the pre-middle of the night rendezvous Snape, would have hexed him for daring to raise his voice to him. This "New Snape"… Harry was lucky to be alive, as far as he was concerned.

Even now that the war was over, his debt to Harry's mother having been repaid, and Voldemort gone, Snape was still there in the background, helping him whether he liked it or not.

_I'll never understand Snape_, Harry thought while wandering toward the back of the classroom, determined to catch Remus at a moment when he was as far out of earshot of another student as possible when he asked him to be released from class for the day.

He was assaulted by a playful Otter for his troubles. Momentarily startled, he prepared for the lecture he knew was coming his way.

Swatting away the silver animal, he sent a glare to its owner as it dissipated.

"Why aren't you working?" Hermione shoved a Ravenclaw out of her way, knocking him into his partner's shield they had just managed to conjure. She sent an apologetic glance to the 7th year Eagle, now in his new spot on the ground, before rounding on Harry. "Sorry."

"I always knew you were the graceful one," Harry smirked at his friend.

She rolled her eyes and settled a hand on her hip, which was never a good sign, "Oh, ha ha, Harry. Your attempt to change the subject has been duly noted, by the way."

"Well, I wouldn't be a Gryffindor if I didn't at least attempt."

Hermione looked sour. "Yes, well, attempting the impossible borders on the stupidity the other houses often try to apply to our house, Harry. Some food for thought for you for next time. Now, I ask again, why aren't you working?"

He groaned, sounding like a petulant child and not having enough energy to care, "Come on, Hermione, if there is any lesson I can skip out on, this would be it. I don't want to be accused of showing off or anything-" Even his half-hearted attempt to use the Slytherin's comebacks for his own good did none of its own.

"You should be setting an example for the rest of the class, Harry. You've been able to cast a corporeal Patronus for, what, five years now?"

Harry sighed exasperatedly, "Something like that, yes. Hermione, look, Remus knows I can do it, he won't mind."

"What won't I mind?" Harry spun around to where his friend and Professor had managed to sneak up on him. _At last,_ Harry thought, _a way out!_

"Harry seems to be under the impression that you won't mind him not doing his work, Professor." Hermione looked triumphant.

Remus gave her a placating smile. "Ms. Granger, I assure you that Harry and I have discussed the matter. Though, I don't quite recall saying you were allowed to just sit and do nothing."

They had in fact discussed it. The Friday before last, Remus had informed him that he had held off on continuing with Patronuses purely for Harry's benefit, and that he understands his problem with the particular spell. "Though," he had added, "I have to move on to a different unit soon, and can't afford to keep putting it off for much longer, Harry. I shall give you until closer to a certain astronomical occurrence, and only till then, to try and become more accustomed to your stag once more. And will most likely be in need of your assistance in helping all of the students that class."

Harry had, in fact, agreed to help the class, though still didn't see how he could be of use. He said just that to Remus and tried to ignore the disparaging shake of Hermione's head before she walked away from them, back to where Ron was showing off his Jack Russell Terrier.

"Harry, have you worked with finding a memory, any memory, that would help?" Remus pulled him further from the class, talking in hushed tones now that Hermione was otherwise occupied.

Harry shook his head, deciding to be honest for once, "No, I haven't. It's not just the memory thing, Remus it's-" Harry took a breath, it was now or never. "It's the Patronus itself. I can't cast one. I haven't been able to since…" he trailed off, the rest of the sentence implied. "Every time I try… I just freeze up."

It was true. Since the moment with the Dementors during the war, where Harry had honestly been about to just let them kiss him and relieve him of the burden that was living, and had only made it out alive because of his friends' abilities to do what he taught them, Harry had not been able to produce even a small, shimmering mist.

He would always just turn cold; terrified that even if he tried his Patronus would not come to him.

All of the past two weeks he had continually tried to bring forth his familiar silver stag. His spare hours were spent in the Room of Requirement, diligently casting away, hoping for some change.

Well, at least attempting to cast away.

It took two days for Harry to even be able to speak the entire spell. Four till he could to it without hyperventilating.

It was probably his apprehension toward the spell that had caused his nightmare the evening previous.

Remus nodded slowly, patting him lightly on the shoulder. "It is perfectly normal to have some… negative baggage left over from any war or battle, Harry. I would be lying if I said I didn't have my fair share as well. As it is, it is not something that will be fixed very easily, Harry, nor should you feel ashamed in any way of this fact. The trauma you endured, that and its apparent association to the spell, is blocking your ability to cast it. Am I correct in my assuming the two have some deeper correlation in your mind?" Harry nodded, being all too aware that that was the problem, but still being slightly creeped out at hearing it said so… plainly. "As much as you may hate to hear it, you are Harry Potter. You can accomplish anything once you put your mind to it. Your parents were always ones to bounce back eventually. Tenacity and determination, two traits that Gryffindors exemplify and your parents were the best in the bunch. A trait I always admired and, to be honest, was never-endingly jealous of as a teen. I wouldn't doubt if, given time, you could bounce right back-"

"Professor Lupin!" a seventh year Ravenclaw that Harry had never met previously to that year's class yelled for Remus, stopping him mid-rant. Something that Harry was not all that sorry to have occurred.

The one thing he always loved about Remus was that he rarely compared him to his parents. If he did, it would always be a fleeting statement here and there, which is what made Harry treasure them as a kid. Since the war, though, it seemed Remus had taken over for Sirius in constantly comparing Harry to the wolf's deceased best friends. Particularly their strong suits, which, instead of making Harry feel better as he guessed the statements were supposed to, only managed to make Harry feel worse for having not achieved those traits and instead having failed his parents in some way.

He never claimed his thought processes made sense.

"Coming!" Remus sighed, "As much as I love our talks, I have some teaching I must attend to. We can continue this later, Harry."

Harry really would have preferred not to, but nodded anyway. "Will do, Remus. Go forth and teach." He smiled as he watched his friend actually bounce to go and help a student.

He may be a wolf, but Remus Lupin had been acting far more like a happy puppy since he became a teacher again. Harry normally found this interminably, giddily hilarious. At that moment, it was simply inconvenient.

As per his previously made promise, Harry swallowed his pride and went around and helped his fellows who were having troubles with casting the spell.

About half of the class was comprised of Dumbledore's Army members, so Harrys' job was a tad easier than expected, but there were still several people who were only producing a simple silver mist, and a handful that weren't even doing that much.

It was like slipping on an old glove, Harry helping his classmates. He hadn't realized how much he truly missed teaching the DA until he started it again.

"Here, try this," the Ravenclaw Hermione had knocked over earlier had yet to manage so much as a mist, and was instead sitting there glaring at his wand and continually growling the spell. Obviously there were several issues Harry could help him with right off. "Don't force it. Spend a few minutes thinking of the memory, something wonderful. It's easier at first if it is happiness from a pure source. Do you have one?"

The kid grumbled and rolled his eyes. "Yes, of course. That's what I've been doing, thinking of the memory. The stupid spell just won't work-!"

Harry chuckled. "That's because you're forcing it. Just take a deep breath, calm down, and let's start over. Again, do you have a memory? Something happy?"

The Ravenclaw did as Harry had suggested. Slowly, he took a deep breath and exhaled. He nodded, "Yeah, I've got a memory." Harry didn't bother asking what it was, the memories always being something too personal for him to want to dig into.

"Alright. Now, think about it. Really think about it. Let it fill you up. Feel its light spreading through you, like a gentle fire warming your very soul." He had no idea where all of this crap was coming from. One too many rounds of Remus' "Happy" speeches and suddenly Harry found himself sounding like a fortune cookie.

The Ravenclaw looked understandably skeptical. "Seriously? Warming to my very soul?"

Harry smiled wanly, "Yes. Just try it, okay? Trust me."

Grumbling, the Ravenclaw sighed and closed his eyes. Harry could see him concentrating, the corners of his mouth quirking in just a way to where he could tell his memory was about happy enough. He waited a minute or two, watching the eagle, waiting for the right moment.

His smile widened and his face relaxed. Harry knew it was then or never. "Now," he started in what he hoped was a calming voice, "lift your wand and say the spell."

Harry watched as the Ravenclaw opened his eyes, a look of certainty on his face, and stated, "_Expecto Patronum_."

Harry blinked and suddenly a thin, silver wall appeared from the end of the kid's wand.

"Haha! Good job. See? Told ya you could do it." Harry clapped him on the back.

He turned, a huge smile on his face, and beamed at Harry. "Thanks!"

Harry just nodded, said, "No problem," and wandered back on his way to help someone else. By the fourth time he was thanked for being "such a great teacher," Harry had managed to become content with the day and the way it was going.

"They're right, you know." Remus' voice came from behind where Harry was, him having just finished helping a Hufflepuff.

"Right about what?" Harry edged away from a group of DA members who were circled together, the edges of their silvery animals just visible over their shoulders. There was a reason he was helping only the ones who had yet to produce anything even vaguely resembling an animal.

"You. You're a great teacher, Harry. You could even give me a run for my money, if you weren't so set in becoming an Auror. Oh, and if I weren't hands down the agreed upon best Defense Professor for years." Remus smiled congenially. He was kidding, of course, yet the statement was true nonetheless.

"Nah. I've just had a lot of practice."

"Ah, yes. Dumbledore's Army did have themselves a rather brilliant leader and teacher if rumors are to be believed." Remus sat on the edge of a desk at the back of the room, keeping his gaze trained on the class at all times. He still somehow managed to make Harry feel like he was only focusing on him. _The man has a gift, and its name is teaching._

Harry informed Remus of this and the wolf just chuckled, a soft growling noise. "I simply perceive things a tad differently, that is all. You, however… Have you ever thought about coming back to teach? After your fantastic career as an Auror, that is."

Harry thought about it. To be honest, he had given it some consideration. Lately in particular. Becoming an Auror had become less and less his life's ambition since the war. After he worked through some things, sure he would love to, but a simple life of teaching another generation to eventually become Aurors sounded like the better option.

But he was Harry Potter. He was expected to become an Auror. He had to become one. It was the only option he could honestly see for his future, the only thing he could be without feeling like he was failing anyone.

"Ah, Remus, you know me well enough to know the answer to that already. Hell, I already have an office in the Ministry with my name on the front, waiting for my graduation day. Maybe as my retirement plans. Till then, I shall simply leave it to you to teach the new recruits." Harry smirked at him and leaned on the edge of the same desk. "Besides, the teenagers would become insufferable after a while."

Remus laughed good-naturedly at that. "Yes, that they do. Particularly the ones who just can't seem to see what they are truly capable of. Always focused on what others expect of them, worried about what others will think, never willing to branch out on their own for their own happiness. It's the only downside to this job." Remus sent him a meaningful look before raising his wand and setting off red sparks, calling the class to attention.

_Well, you know what they say. Those who can't do…_ Harry thought. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to happen, something terrible.

Perhaps that was just because, in his life, terrible and any day of the week sort of went hand in hand.

Then again, perhaps it was for what happened next.

"Wands down and return to your desks, please, everyone." Remus bounded to the front of the classroom, Harry was now assured of how close it must be to the full moon for how doglike his friend was becoming.

A chorus of, "Aaaawww," rang out amongst the teenagers as Harry rolled his eyes and joined his classmates in returning to their seats.

Once they were all seated, Remus smiled and clapped his hands together, "I must say, as a class, I have never seen so much improvement in so short a time as this group has managed." The students gave a hearty cheer for themselves; Harry had to admit they earned it, "I feel you deserve a reward for all of your hard work. So, how about we have a little demonstration. I know there is a certain percentage of this classroom that can produce corporeal Patronuses." Harry felt rather than saw every member of the DA's interest peak at this. Harry's heart fell somewhere around his stomach, seeming to have hit his kidney on the way if the pain in his abdomen was any indication.

"I would like to invite any of them who would like to show us their skills, now they do not all have to come up, only those that want to-" The rest of Remus' speech was drowned out by the sound of scraping chairs and overexcited teenagers as the entirety of the present members of the DA, minus one leader, scrambled for the head of the class.

His absence was quickly noticed and Hermione actually glared Harry down when she realized he was still sitting, but Harry stayed where he was. Hermione gave up eventually, Harry being the more stubborn of the two lately.

"Now, you are all aware that a Patronus takes the form of an animal. A protector. This animal differs from person to person and can even change for a person due to a strong event occurring in their life." Knowing that Remus could very well have been talking about his wife, whose Patronus became, well, Remus, Harry still immediately thought about Snape and his doe. How someone had meant that much to him to be an event that changes even the spirit guardian… Harry didn't really want to think more on the subject.

"To prove to you all that I am not simply rambling up here, I would like to give you a demonstration on the variety that one spell can come in." He turned and nodded to the DA members who were waiting patiently for their directions. "Now, if you all could form a straight line," some shuffling and they managed to fit in one line across the front of the classroom, "and cast in unison, please? We may, in fact, be the first to witness what could only be referred to as a Patronus stampede." Remus sounded far too excited about this for Harry's liking.

Harry was not in any mood to see anything that involved the words "Patronus" and "Stampede."

The members of the DA stood before the class, each lined up shoulder-to-shoulder, wands extended and a smirk on their lips.

Moments too late, Harry realized it was a terrible idea for him to still be in the room for this.

Much less sitting at a desk. In front of them all. More specifically, sitting at the desk at which a good fourth of the group before him was aiming their wands.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" the majority of Dumbledore's Army shouted in unison as their beautiful silver animal protectors burst from the ends of their wands and began to gallop, swim and run around the room.

The rest of the still seated portion of the class broke into "oohs" and "aahs." Some even clapped. Harry didn't hear any of it.

The otter, bunny and mare all came toward Harry first, descending upon him in unison‒

In a flash, he was back in his nightmare. Everything was as per the usual. The bodies of the dead mauled him, most with their wands raised high. Though this time, they changed. Slowly, each of their eyes disappeared behind black hoods that seemed to grow over their faces. The hoods were joined by the rest of the long black cloaks. The hands holding their wands became decayed, old, and instead of screaming at him, the voices died down to a more terrifying sound.

Slow, rattling breaths of eyeless, faceless beings.

Dementors were everywhere. As the air around him seemed to freeze, his terror increased. They all floated toward him, rattling breathing being all he could hear besides the beating of his own heart.

Harry's mind went only to his moment of acquiescence. Memories of him willingly walking toward the Dementors, Ron and Hermione's voices calling him back but he kept going-

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry tried to spell them all away, but he could do nothing to stop it. His wand had become limp, useless. No patronus would ever come to his rescue again…

The only remnant of the humans the Dementors had been moments before were the wands held in their outstretched hands. Each got closer, raising their arms and noiselessly casting the same spell. Harry braced himself, but instead of the usual green light, silver mist began filling the room.

Harry stood, terrified. The silver animals shone in the dim lighting of the Great Hall. These were no ordinary Patronuses.

They floated, red-eyed, and as evil as their real life counterparts were pure.

These held no sense of warmth and safety. The Patronuses descended upon him, the physical manifestations of hate, sorrow, blame and his guilt, attacking him. Tearing at him with their claws and trampling him with their hooves, the only pure source of good in his world of hell was killing him.

Harry was hyperventilating. He could no longer tell the difference between his reality and his memories of a nightmare.

Quickly, he shut his eyes. He was panting, trying to forget what was in front of him.

_Okay, Potter. Calm down._ He couldn't regain control of himself, he was freaking out.

A voice in his head, a memory of the day before, mocked him. _Potter, now is most definitely not the time for one of your infamous outbursts and overreactions._

Not giving the fact that it was Snape's voice in his head a second thought, Harry took a deep breath. The bastard was right, even later. It was never time for one of Potter's infamous overreactions…

He opened his eyes and took a good, hard look at the otter in front of him, forcing himself to see that its eyes were not red, that it was the normal otter Hermione always cast. It posed no danger to him. It was harmless.

Finally, he felt his breathing even out.

Now Harry felt like an idiot. He had just been reduced to hysterics by silvery animals. He didn't know how many people witnessed it, but even one would ruin him.

Again, he was terrified of animals that were protectors. Silver, prancy protectors.

_Kill me now._

A voice behind him scoffed, "Really, Potter, you could have done better than that. 'Oh, no, the scary animals are coming to get me. Stampede!' Honestly, I expect better from the likes of you. 4.5, really."

Harry whipped around in his chair, unable to believe his ears. The owner of the familiar voice was none other than Draco Malfoy. He was confused, to say the least.

_What the hell is Malfoy talking about?_ It took Harry far too long to catch on, being stuck on the sheer fact that Malfoy was talking to him.

Finally, he got it. Malfoy was covering for him. Badly, but still.

Harry played along. Badly, but still… "Oh, come on, that was at least a 7.6. Didn't you see the realistic panicking? Star performance of the class, in my opinion." Malfoy chuckled at him in response. He held his breath, waiting. Seconds later, others laughed along with Malfoy.

"Oi, Harry, I'd give you about an 8.3. The fear in your eyes, mate, I almost believed it!" Ron, never one to be on the outside of a joke, came inadvertently to his rescue once again.

With that, things went back to normal. Small conversations erupted, the members of the DA wandered back to their seats, and everything meshed together in a blur. Remus announced the end of class, thanking the students that shared their wonderful skills with the rest of them, and assigned a three foot essay on the different spells they had learned in the past few weeks and what their applications to real life were, to be due in a week.

Harry groaned along with the rest of the class at the idea of work, then began to pack up his things as quickly as possible, blending into the din. He almost made it out of the class unscathed, but in a small gap between classmates he made eye contact with Remus.

Remus had his calculating, worried face on.

Harry knew he was screwed.

So, he put on his brave Gryffindor face once more, and ran for his life.

In his hurry to escape that look, Harry ran into Malfoy outside of the classroom.

Literally.

* * *

><p>"Sorry-"<p>

"Would you watch where you're going- Oh. Potter," his face switched from annoyance to something more congenial when he realized who Harry was, "just the man I wanted to talk to." Malfoy readjusted his bag back onto his shoulder from where Harry had knocked it out of his grip.

Harry had to, once again, take a few seconds to process what Malfoy had just said. "Um, er- You wanted to talk?"

Malfoy nodded, "Yeah, just not here. Care for a walk?" He turned and started heading down the hall, obviously expecting Harry to follow. Which he did.

Harry ignored the confused looks from Ron and Hermione he got as he walked away, simply waving them away and mouthing, "Tell you about it later," to appease them. The situation was weird enough without getting them involved.

They passed through several hallways, taking one or two shortcuts, until finally they had gotten far enough away from the other students so as not to be overheard. Malfoy stopped and turned to Harry, "Listen, Potter, I know we've had a sort of mute truce since…" he seemed to be searching for the best way to phrase it, "everything that happened last year." _'Everything that happened,' well it was better than nothing_. "I wanted to assure you that I'm no longer participating in our futile feud. I want to move on. Start over. Clean slate."

Harry was confused again. "Clean slate?"

Malfoy, mistaking Harry's confusion for incredulity, backtracked faster than a speeding bludger, "I know it will be rather difficult, what with seven years of hatred and after all of the turmoil that us hating each other has caused- both for us and our surrounding friends and individuals-, and everything I have done. Specifically in the past two years. Honestly, I was only after power and a place to fit in where I was the best. Then my family got involved… I did not think things through. I just acted. I see that now. I have had some help figuring a few things out these past few months, and I want- no, I _need_ you to know that I am done. I am done being a prat for the sake of living up to my image, to my family name, and I am done hating you. In fact, I would like to be your…" Malfoy seemed to choke a bit on the next word, "your _friend_, if you wouldn't mind."

He didn't know what to say. What does one reply to something like that?

The idea of Malfoy being his friend was always a laughable one. He would rather have given himself over as a snack for the Giant Squid than befriend him in the past. This Malfoy, though… he seemed legitimate in his wish to be friends.

He thought back to the past few weeks. Draco Malfoy had been acting distinctly unlike himself. As if he truly had turned over a new leaf… That and there was that moment with Ginny he had witnessed a few weeks ago.

Perhaps ending the Potter/Malfoy feud once and for all would be the best idea for all involved.

Harry did the first thing he could think of. Slowly, he held out his hand, pretending to not notice the jumpy reflexive almost-reach for his wand Malfoy did at the movement. After all, hadn't he done the same thing, only to a much larger extent, to Snape the night before?

Malfoy stared at his hand. A tense moment hung in the air as they both stared, Harry's hand between them.

Harry almost withdrew it.

Then, just as slowly, Malfoy held out his own to shake Harry's hand.

With that small movement, all was settled. Harry had finally accepted Malfoy's offer of friendship from their first year. From what seemed a lifetime ago.

It was seven years late, but there it was.

They looked at one another, each firmly shaking the other's hand. The Slytherin looked as if he could hug him. Harry wasn't quite certain he would have let him.

"Well, then." The handshake had gone on for an awkward amount of time, so they both hastily withdrew their hands. Malfoy returned his to the strap on his bag. "That is, um, that, then."

Another awkward moment of silence, neither really sure what to say. They had just become friends, and already they had nothing to say to one another.

Or rather, they had too much to say. What to say first?

Malfoy eventually nodded and turned to walk away.

Harry finally found what he wanted to say.

"Hey, thanks, Malfoy."

Malfoy stopped. "What for?" He turned back around to face him.

_Not telling your crazed Aunt it was me? Not actually killing Dumbledore? Being sort of a human being?_ "For in there. It- Just, thanks."

Malfoy didn't need to think too hard to figure out what Harry meant. "Think nothing of it, Potter. You should just be happy I recognized the signs." Harry raised an eyebrow. Malfoy's cheeks paled a bit, but his eye contact never wavered. "I was the same way after… Well, if I saw anything that reminded me of, well, anything- Even my Slytherin crests, the snake, certain rooms of the Manor, memories of what happened there- Well, I sort of lost it once or twice. What I'm trying to say, with an unusual lack of my expected grace and eloquence, is- I never thought I'd be saying this to you of all people, and if you ever repeat any of this I shall deny it wholly, but with things such as that… I understand."

Somehow, unlike anything Ron or Hermione had told him over and over again since the war, Harry believed Malfoy. He did, in fact, understand.

Perhaps he just needed to hear it from someone far removed from himself and his memories. Maybe Malfoy admitting it just made everything he had gone through just that much more bearable, because it made it real. And almost… normal?

"Thank you. For understanding, and for helping. It sounds stupid actually saying it out loud, but honestly you saved my arse in there. Definitely something a friend would do." He smirked as Malfoy genuinely laughed.

"Well, don't be making a habit of it. I can't have everyone relying on my quick wit and lightning fast covering abilities. Others may catch on and then it's nothing but work, work, work." The blonde smirked, but there was no malice behind it. "While I accept your thanks, it really is not necessary. In fact… I'm the one who should be thanking you."

This conversation was beginning to become as awkward as the extended handshake. "Thanking me? For what?"

"How does one classify thanking someone for 'everything' without it sounding trite?" Harry rolled his eyes, "No, honestly. You gave my family and me a second chance. You kept me and my mother out of Azkaban- don't try and deny it, because I already know." He cut Harry off before he could defend his actions, "You saved my life. In the Room of Requirement… You could have let me burn. Honestly, it's what I would have done." Malfoy studied his shoe, "But instead, you did what I could never have done. Risking your life to save that of someone who didn't deserve it. It was crazy and reckless, but…" his eyes met Harry's, "I am forever in your debt, Potter."

"No, you're not. And, please, call me Harry." It wasn't that he wanted Malfoy to call him Harry, it was that he couldn't stand hearing anything like what he just had, someone thanking him for things that required anything but gratitude, with his surname attached. He had had enough of that at the funerals for the fallen.

Malfoy's eyes widened a bit. "Harry?" He looked like the name left a bad taste in his mouth. Harry didn't blame him. "I shall… but only if you call me Draco."

There was a challenge hidden in that sentence if he had ever heard one. "Well, then… _Draco_, I guess I'll be seeing you." _Challenge completed._

"See ya around, P- Harry." Draco waved slightly as he walked away, headed to his next class. Harry waved back at his now more than acquaintance.

"See ya around, M- Draco."

As he walked away, Harry couldn't help but wonder if Malfo- Draco could read minds. Wasn't he just thinking a few weeks ago how Malf- DRACO had never so much as thanked him for what happened in the Room of Requirement? Merlin only knows what could have made him turn things around so much and so quickly.

Then he thought about it for a second.

When the answer hit him, he had to stop himself from audibly laughing.

"Draco, wait up!" He ran to catch up with the Slytherin, who turned around to look at him questioningly.

"Yes, Po- Harry?"

"Just one more thing." Harry leaned in so only Malfoy could hear him, for you never know who's listening at Hogwarts, "The next time you see her, be sure to say hi to Ginny for me."

Malfoy gawked at him. That was enough of an answer for Harry.

Harry smirked and ran down the hall, feeling like a giddy second year as he distanced himself from the dumbfounded teen he left in his wake.

_Haha! I knew it! _Harry stopped when he had at least two floors of the castle between him and Malfoy, ignoring the odd looks he got from his schoolmates along the way. He laughed, feeling as if a burden had been thrown off of his shoulders, and sank down in an empty alcove to just sit and think.

He had figured something was going on between his ex-girlfriend and Malfoy.

Now to find out he was right… It felt pretty damn good. The new Malfoy was one he could approve of, at least tentatively. Besides, Ginny was a girl who could more than take care of herself. The curses that girl can cast. If anything, Draco was the one who he needed to be worried about.

Later he'd ask Draco or even Ginny for more information than just his hypotheses and guesses, but for now it was enough to know that the girl he was still wracked with guilt over leaving alone had moved on. Harry didn't have to feel guilty for not being the man she needed anymore. For not being able to be that man in any way, shape or form.

It was freeing.

_Merlin, Malfoy thanks me and suddenly everything is sunshine and roses… Maybe I _have _been getting too much sleep. My brain is beginning to rot. Snape may have been right all these years after all._ Harry laughed at himself, but the laughter was tampered down a tad from his earlier bout.

Back in the classroom… Malfoy may have covered for him, but it was Snape that had calmed him down. From afar, yes, but still. Even when Snape wasn't there he was saving Harry.

Malfoy had thanked him. Had essentially apologized for all of the years of their being enemies and schoolboy prats. An apology that was not in any way expected or necessary. Harry knew he was almost as guilty in the realm of schoolboy prat as Malfoy, but still… Draco apologized and thanked him. And now they were, at least hypothetical, friends.

This caused something to start nagging at his mind. Malfoy apologized for being an arse to him and thanked him for everything. This was something Harry had never really done with Snape, yet he owed him a thousand times more than what Malfoy ever deluded himself into believing he owed Harry.

Even now the man was saving Harry again, as usual, and he hasn't once thanked the man for it.

Perhaps it was high time he talked with the man.

Talking that didn't involve yelling at one another.

What did he have to lose, really?

After all, there's always St. Mungo's if things go badly.

* * *

><p>Harry was still reeling from his unexpected encounter with Mal- Draco when he wandered into the Gryffindor Common Room after classes were out for the day.<p>

He walked through the Portrait Hole to the usual sounds of chattering Gryffindors (somewhere in there he could distinctly hear a bickering Ron and Hermione), and wondered when his life had become so strange.

He had a sort of mutual non-entity with Snape, had just formed a truce with a Slytherin and even accepted to attempt a friendship with his oldest Wizarding World nemesis (Voldemort notwithstanding). The rest of the world was still going at the usual pace, but his life was spiraling. And he couldn't tell if it was upward, or down…

Suddenly tired, Harry dodged his way through the Common Room and made it to the spiral staircase that held his salvation: his four-poster bed.

It was just to be a small nap, that's all. Something to tide him over till his full rest that night.

His "small nap" turned into him staring at the canopy of his four-poster for two hours, attempting to will his brain to sleep. Nothing was happening.

_What the hell? I've been sleeping regularly for two weeks, this is ridiculous!_ He gave up with a growl and flew out of his bed. It seemed he was not capable of napping that day.

He stomped the entire way down to the Great Hall, avoiding the odd looks he received, and didn't stop until he had flumped down in front of Ron and Hermione, who were otherwise occupied with feeding one another small bites of their favorite foods from their plates.

"Thank Merlin you're here, Harry," Neville looked at him like he was the most welcome sight in the world, "could you possibly do anything to save us from _that?"_

The "that" to which he was referring was the aforementioned Ron and Hermione adorablefest. Which neither of them seemed even the slightest bit aware was creeping some people out.

Harry laughed, shaking his head. "Sorry, guys, no can do. They're in their own little world; it would be unhealthy of me to attempt to break them from it. Besides, it involves food. We all know how Ron gets when his food is threatened."

"Oi, I can hear you, you know." Ron broke out of WeasleyGrangerLand at the sounds of laughter, taking Hermione with him.

"Mission accomplished." Harry grinned at Neville, who was holding back a cheer he was so enormously grateful. Even Ginny sent a thankful look in Harry's direction. She was chatting with Luna, who was now just a staple at the table, and a few others, not all of which were Gryffindors. The rules about Houses eating at House tables became a bit more lax after the war. House unity being something everyone strove for.

Harry wondered if Ginny knew about his and Draco's newfound truce. He inwardly shrugged, and began loading the sadly empty plate in front of him with everything he could get his hands on. Something about sleeping regularly had his appetite surging back to normal teenage male levels.

"By the way, it's about damn time you showed up, Harry. I've been looking for you everywhere." Ron ignored the bit of chicken he had flung in Harry's direction as he pointed his fork at him as he spoke. "I have a question or two to ask you. One, what did Malfoy want earlier, and two, what's this I hear about you and Malfoy being friends?"

Harry was always awed by how quickly things flew around Hogwarts. "I do believe you answered your own question with that second question, Ron." He sighed, knowing this conversation could not be headed in a pleasant direction. "Draco Malfoy and I are on civil terms as of this afternoon. Feud officially over."

Everyone within overhearing range quieted down. Not a single fork was moved. They all just froze.

Ginny and Hermione both looked at him hopefully.

"Do you mean it?" Hermione practically had "Spoken Unspoken Truce!" written on her forehead.

Harry sighed, now regretting bringing Ron out of WeasleyGrangerLand. "Yes, I do."

Ron's fork fell from his hand with a clatter that sounded like gunfire in the relative quiet. "What?"

Harry sighed. "You heard me, Ron. We're not fighting anymore." Harry scoffed at the aghast looks on Neville and Ron's faces. "Merlin, you'd think I had announced we were planning to elope. It's just a peace treaty, keep your pants on."

Everyone looked at him like he had grown another head. Dean and Seamus were confused, Hermione torn between jubilance and anger and Ginny was waiting, patiently, with bated breath. Harry didn't know who he wished would just stop looking at him the most.

Neville ground his teeth loudly and asked, "What could he possibly have done to deserve that? Seven years of you two hating each other, of all of us hating him, years of bullying and the terrible things he has done and you just up and forgive him… Why?"

Harry honestly couldn't answer his question. Not entirely. He was still sorting through things himself. So he did the only thing he could think of. Start talking and hope the actual answer eventually reveals itself.

"As Ron already said, we had a discussion today after Defense. Apologies were given, things were said, and I decided to accept his offer to end this feud once and for all. I don't know about you all, but I for one can live with one more friend and one less toxic relationship in my life. We have changed in the past few years, all of us. It was unavoidable. A war ravaged our quaint little lives and took many a thing with it. We are different people. Honestly, I would have thought you would all be happy. It is a step closer to house unity and all that crap we've been after all this time. Isn't that what we have been working toward?" Everyone nodded their heads vaguely, still taking in everything he said, but not being able to discount it. "Draco and I have decided to put the past where it belongs: behind us." _Well, that sounded pretty close to an answer, _he thought proudly.

It seemed enough for everyone but Ron. Slowly they all started to go back to their meals, forks and knives scraping against plates once more.

All but the Golden Trio. Harry speared a bit of chicken and almost had it to his mouth before Ron exploded.

Almost.

Ron was seething and sarcastic, neither of which were things that suited him. "Oh, so he's 'Draco' now, is he? Not 'Greasy Ferret' or any of the other names we've called him in the seven years he made it his life's mission to make our lives hell? One little conversation and you're willing to forget all of the shit he pulled, all of the times he tried to have you expelled or killed, forget all of what he let happen in his own damn house-"

Harry had had enough. After his getting no real sleep the night before and that utter failure of a nap, combined with his lack of ever being allowed to eat anymore due to his overbearing friends choosing meals to bring back nauseating memories, Harry was just not in the mood. Now Ron was, intentionally or no, casually bringing up Hermione's torture at the hands of Bellatrix.

That was not something he was going to accept.

"Yes, Ron. Sometimes things just need to be forgiven and forgotten. To be walked away from so no further damage is caused. Like this conversation right now." With that, Harry got up, plate still untouched, and waltzed out of the Great Hall.

That time, Ron knew Harry was angry with him.

* * *

><p>Snape's bruises had healed fully by the next evening.<p>

He stood in front of his bedroom mirror, shirtless, inspecting the former injury. He lightly ran his fingers over the spot where Potter had sunk his knuckles rather adeptly into his skin.

"Well, at least I can now say for certain that batch of Bruise Salve came out perfectly. Just wait until I get Potter back for this…" He grumbled and sent his evilest look to his reflection in the mirror.

There. There was the spark of the Old Snape. Hidden in that snarling glare. Glowing in the fire in his eyes.

Severus Snape. He was a bastard. A hated person, even amongst his "friends." He could make anyone leave a room just by existing within it. His snark, sarcasm, acidic wit and hatred for the human race were known far and wide. He was a bully and an ass. This was the person he spent years becoming, cultivating the myth and personality to go with it.

For he did not _want_ people, nor _deserve_ for people, to like him. The last person who liked him, accepted him for who he really was and more than just put up with him, left him. Alone, scared and shattered. In all honesty, he had pushed her away without even realizing it. He knew, from birth it seemed, that he did not deserve to be loved. So, he made her hate him, not by acting, but by showing her who he truly was. A monster. A Death Eater.

He hated the man he was. And he preferred it that way. Hated by everyone, especially himself. It was what he deserved. His true penance for getting them killed. For getting her killed.

He was alone.

He stared at his reflection.

It stared back, gaunt and pale. He was lanky and thin, rather too thin to be healthy but he never noticed. All he saw when he looked in the mirror was the scrawny child who was pushed around and powerless. The person he was once determined to never allow himself to be. That determination became the very thing that made it impossible for him to become anything humanly acceptable. Nothing but Snape.

He was entirely forgettable, aside from his nose. Greasy and pale. The only thing about him that stood out was the glaring red scar on his collarbone. His hand found it without the help of the mirror. Two exact circles, shriveled in the middle from the skin filling over but not quite within the puncture wounds, never exactly healing. There was only so much anti-venom potions, and even Poppy's skilled hands, could accomplish for his wounds. The Dark Lord's snake having done more than its job in incapacitating Severus Snape.

_The wound that should have killed me…_ He scoffed at his mind's train of thought. Pathetic and useless, thinking over what happened that night. It's not as if he could have changed it. If he could have, what could he have truly done differently? Died? What would that have accomplished? Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

He was pulled from his ever-spiraling reverie by the sound of knocking. Realizing how far time had gotten away from him, Snape ran to quickly throw his sitting room back into proper order.

Snape made it a point to ensure his quarters were in proper and perfect order when Potter arrived. At current, his sitting room had students' essays strewn about the floor and empty red ink bottles littered the ground around his chair where he graded them. He refused to allow Potter to see his quarters this disorderly. After all, he had appearances to keep up.

With a few quick flicks of his wand, he picked the mess up and had it neatly stacked on his side table next to his book about Bicorn Horn and its uses.

That poor, lonely book.

Snape took a deep breath, put on his customary sneer, and swung the door open for Potter.

The teen smiled at seeing him, then his gaze dropped and eyes widened.

It was with a wince that Snape remembered he was still shirtless.

_Shit._

* * *

><p>Harry was pretending the fight with Ron had not occurred.<p>

Ron, however, was not.

Harry sat on his four-poster, a scroll of parchment and his Defense book open before him, working on Remus' essay he assigned them earlier that day because, let's face it, Harry had nothing better to do.

His grades were the only things that were gaining anything from Harry's reappearing tendency to have to avoid people.

The room was nice and silent until Ron came busting through the doorway, huffing and puffing and apparently preparing to blow the house down.

"Ron, I-" Harry tried to talk with Ron about earlier, perhaps give the customary "You started it, but hey, I'll apologize anyway because I'm tired of you ignoring me," speech, but was cut off with a cold retort.

"Potter." Ron glowered at him as he grabbed his schoolbag, angrily opened it up, viciously pulled out his Defense book, snatching it by the edge of the back cover, barely managing to keep it in one piece in the process, and stormed back out of the dormitory, leaving a blaring silence in his wake.

"Well, shit." Harry sighed, putting his essay aside. He was almost finished with it anyway, and definitely didn't have the energy to finish it after Ron's outburst.

Harry realized he should be used to Ron's tantrums by now. He should know that it would all blow itself over eventually, Ron would stop being angry with him when he realized how stupid their argument was.

He should know that by now.

Still, Harry couldn't help but take it personally- again- that Ron was snipping over something Harry did. Not only that, but the fact that the thing was completely stupid.

Harry refused to regret adding Draco among his allies instead of an enemy. This was something that was long overdue. Harry was tired of hating people on principle. It took much more energy to hate someone than it did to just count them as a friend or acquaintance.

Well, unless that person is Ronald Weasley. Then it takes the patience of a saint and the resolute stubbornness of a mule to count him as a friend. _One out of two isn't bad_, Harry thought with a smirk.

Harry bounced out of his bed and crossed to the window. The moon was still low in the sky, the stars shining mildly from behind a still blue-black night sky. _Come on, time, and speed up already. I have places to be and sleep to be had._

Harry snarled and sighed his way to bedtime, staring at the closed curtain of his four-poster until the tell-tale snoring of Neville Longbottom filled the room.

When Harry grabbed his usual overnight bag, cloak, map and wand and silently drew back the curtain to sneak out, he noticed something odd.

Ron never came to bed.

_Oh, well. He probably brooded too hard to want to sleep in a room with Harry Potter. Too bad I'm not going to be here for him to explain it all away._ Harry smirked, checked the aisle around Snape's room, finding nobody in the hallway, Snape's dot hanging out in what Harry knew to be his bedroom.

_Over the castle and through the dungeons, to Snape's house I go._

Harry all but flew under his cloak to the expanse of castle wall he knew to be the hidden entrance to Snape's quarters. Grumbling a quick, "Bloody Gryffindors," and meaning it, Harry was greeted with the door to Casa De Snape.

Snape's dot was still in his bedroom, so Harry knocked as loudly as he could. The echo of his knocks reverberated around the stone walls as Harry checked once more for anyone who may be in range, then began shoving all of his things into his bag.

Finally the door opened, revealing the usual, casual Snape.

Or so Harry expected.

He smiled at his Professor, glad to finally be able to sleep, then couldn't help but gawk. The man was clad in his usual sleep pants, yet was missing an important aspect of his wardrobe.

Namely the t-shirt.

Snape had no shirt on.

_Snape was shirtless._

Harry tried to look away, knew he should, but his eyes were fixed on Snape.

He was pale, even paler that Snape's facial tone suggested. Thin, but not too thin. More fit and only muscle, yet not toned. Harry had to admit, Snape wasn't exactly… terrible looking.

From where he stood, Harry could see slight scars everywhere. _Battle wounds_, Harry thought. Harry had a similar array of scars of his own.

Harry's eyes raked over Snape's chest, finally settling on the newest scar. The two puncture wounds from Nagini, Voldemort's pet snake. Harry had yet to see the wounds since that night. Harry found himself rather fixated by those scars.

In fact, Harry simply found himself rather fixated by Snape. Particularly in his shirtless form.

Snape cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable, "Are you coming in or not?" he snapped at him and practically sprinted to his room to grab his shirt.

Harry stood dazedly in the still open doorway. Eventually, he wandered into the sitting room, cautiously shutting the door to Snape's quarters behind him, only after doing one more check of the hallway to ensure no one else was a witness to… that.

Harry's bag slid on its own from his limp shoulder and onto the floor. He wasn't sure if he could go into the bedroom yet, or if he should stay in that room and wait for Snape to tell him he was allowed to go into the other room.

He didn't want to chance another encounter with a half-clothed, now angry, Snape.

So, he just stood there awkwardly in the middle of the room.

_Today started out as such a normal day, too._

Snape came storming into the room seconds later, a bit winded and still midway through putting his shirt back on. Harry pointedly refused to glance or stare openly at the pale stomach he could still see before it was hidden behind Snape's customary black, cotton, t-shirt.

Snape stopped abruptly, stood for precisely three seconds, nodded to him once, turned on his heel, and made a beeline for his bedroom, extinguishing all of the lights with a flick of his wrist on his way.

Now Harry stood awkwardly in the middle of a dark room. Pulling out his own wand, he thought _Lumos_ and found his way to Snape's bed by wandlight.

Several minutes later found them both lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Both for different, if not unrelated, reasons.

Harry's mind was swimming with a mixture of wondering how Snape had stayed that fit after spending 20 years eating Hogwarts food three times a day, and Draco and his newfound truce. Namely, how Harry really never thanked Snape for anything he had ever done.

Those scars. The fang marks. Harry was as responsible for them as the snake.

Yet he never even so much as said anything to Snape after it happened.

_Perhaps it's time I changed that._

* * *

><p>Snape was pretending nothing out of the ordinary had happened.<p>

And that was doing just damn well fine for him.

That was how Snape preferred to live his everyday life as far as Potter was concerned. Unless he was injured, dead or going to become dead in the near future, nothing out of the ordinary was capable of happening to Potter in his view.

That just led to worrying and, often, humiliation on his part.

There they lay, in the darkness, the usual comfort his mind found the sound of another's even breathing being destroyed by Potter's glaring act of still being awake.

Snape rolled over, facing the wall and putting Potter behind him.

He didn't know what was so damn important to Potter that was keeping the Gryffindor awake, but knew he needed to forget about it already if Snape was expected to get any sleep.

Potter sighed louder than his previous and usual sighs, and spoke, "About last night, Snape. Thanks."

Snape just scoffed in reply, rolling over onto his back once more.

Another twenty minutes of, less-enraging than before, silence and Potter spoke again. Just one, small phrase.

"Thank you."

Snape grimaced. Years of not a single word of thanks being spoken and suddenly he got two in one night? To what did he owe this _wonderful_ honor? Even his thoughts were sarcastic as replied with a sigh, "Potter, this wasn't just for your sake that I agreed to this-"

"No, I don't mean for this." Potter had his attention. "Well, okay, for this, too, but I mean- thank you. For everything. I know I haven't said it before and… and I should have. You've saved my life more times than I deserved and I just- I wanted you to know I'm thankful. So… thanks."

Snape was too bewildered to reply, so he just nodded in the darkness, and made a generally positive sound. Potter chuckled lightly, rolled over and fell almost right to sleep.

Snape followed suit and rolled over, facing Potter's back. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, so he could just make out the outline of the thorn in his side.

_Perhaps this arrangement isn't as bad as I had previously thought it to be, _Snape thought before drifting off to sleep, a small smile gracing his features.

That night, he dreamt of ungrateful brats, this time knowing they were, beyond all odds, anything but.

* * *

><p>AN: So now you know what I meant by the chapter getting a bit out of hand.<p>

A lot wanted to throw itself into this chapter. Several different plotlines, some backstory, a touch of explanation and a dash of Trio fighting.

The chapter was going so normally, until all of a sudden I was typing Snape angst and BOOM- Shirtless.

Don't worry. Snape's not changing any time soon. A thank you isn't enough to change his entire worldview.

Things that seemed reeeaally odd in this chapter shall be explained in later ones, I swear. They are not just random.

Nothing so far in this story, expected by the author or no, is random.

At least as far as I know...

I am now going to sleep, as it is 4am and I have to get up in a grand total of 3 hours. Happy reading, hopefully it won't be months before the next update. :D

I hope to hear from you all in reviews, for those are the wonderful sustenance that keeps this author going. Positive or no.

Yours truly,

ForeverJynxed


	8. Potions Ginny and Enlightening Detention

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own or even claim to EVER own anything related to Harry Potter or its affiliates. It all belongs to Jo Rowling and the rights are still the sole property of WB and Scholastic and whatever other companies are in charge of distributing HP books, movies and whatnot. I am only a simple fangirl who had an idea and felt the need to write it down and share it with other fangirls who are of similarly-minded types.**

**Oh, and, in case that one didn't get the gist across: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING! Only the laptop on which this was written and a slight case of insomnia. XD**

**Insomnia Has Its Perks**

AN: Hello all! :D

_It is I, ForeverJynxed! And what's this? Less than a month between updates?_

_WITCHCRAFT!_

_Haha, no, I'm just kidding. Still, I would like to thank the beautiful amount of individuals who reviewed my last chapter, particularly all of you who essentially **ordered** me to update. Believe it or not, it does, in fact, guilt me into writing as fast as I possibly can._

_I unfortunately start school again next week, and possibly another play (all of the plays I was involved with LAST semester being why I didn't update for… several months), but never fear! I shall not allow schoolwork or other obligations to get in the way of my wonderful readers! I shall try and keep to my new pace of one chapter every few weeks if it kills me._

_I shall be delivering these obnoxiously long chapters on a regular basis now, so that'll be an upside, as well as a reasoning for them taking so stupidly long to be created. xP._

_Without further ado, because a large portion of you aren't even reading this, the chapter!_

_(Fun fact this chapter's original title was "Hell if I know, I'm flying blind here!" Which is an unfortunate side effect of this part not being outlined yet)_

_See you at the end, my valued readers,_

_Yours truly,_

_ForeverJynxed_

* * *

><p>Chapter 8: Potions, Ginny and an Enlightening Detention<p>

That morning, Harry had packed up his things and wandered out of Snape's quarters with a lightened mind. It was as if he had thrown off four tons of baggage from his shoulders. Even his sleep was even better than usual. Not a dream in sight.

The moment he thanked Snape for everything, things just clicked. The burden of his obligation to Snape for all of what the bastard had done for him had been lifted in some, small way.

Mix that with his no longer having to waste any energy in hating or simply ignoring Draco Malfoy and not even the glare Ron was sending him from the other side of the Gryffindor table could have spoiled his good mood.

Even Hermione's fussing over him wasn't as insufferable as usual.

Though, it still annoyed him.

"Harry, be careful. You really shouldn't be scarfing down your meals like that, you'll just make yourself sick." Hermione tutted and rolled her eyes at her friend.

Harry halted in his consuming of his breakfast. Grumbling, he set down his fork and took a large swig of Pumpkin Juice, wishing he knew how to transfigure it into Fire Whiskey. "There. Better?"

Hermione lightly nodded, her face tight in response to his petulance. "Yes. Thank you."

Harry reminded himself for the thousandth time that month that Hermione gripes because she cares.

"Well, now, Harry, you look very well-rested today!" Hermione, tactfully changing the subject to something even more infuriating, spoke directly to him, with no eye contact or even a glance in Ron's direction. By then, Harry was well aware of what this meant.

She knew he and Ron were fighting and she was in no way interested in getting in the middle of it. It was a far cry from her original tactic of telling them how idiotic their fights were, and she made the change for the better. Somehow, after 7 years of trying, she realized they were too stubborn to adhere to logic.

So instead, she had taken to ignoring them. It had been that way since she and Ron became a couple. She would unofficially ban any talk of whatever spat they were having (and often even ignore one of them if they were entirely in the wrong- usually Ron) until the boys would just forget about it (forcibly).

Or Harry would apologize, whether he started it or not. Mainly a mixture of the two. Ron would forget, Harry would apologize.

He resisted a sigh, "Yep. Slept just great last night. The moment my head hit that pillow- Boom! Sleep." He was only telling a white lie that time.

He did sleep after his head hit the pillow. It just took a while and a small conversation first.

Ron snorted into his bacon.

Hermione sent him a micro-second of a glare, going back to Happy Hermione before you could even think about blinking, "Well, that's wonderful. I was beginning to worry after yesterday. You didn't exactly go up to bed in the greatest of moods."

_Oh, I wonder what could have caused that?_ Harry tried not to stare directly at Ron. His gaze just sort of wavered between Hermione and Neville, who was sitting to Ron's right and appeared to be apologizing with his face for how he had been a part of the Draco Dispute the day before.

Harry could only take so much of his After-Argument friends before he excused himself from the table, having finally been able to eat a decent meal with little to no guilt or anger welling up inside of him. There were simply the standard levels of guilt and sadness that being in the Great Hall afforded him.

All in all, it had been a good morning.

* * *

><p>The hour before his Double-Potions class was spent how he usually spent it: Sitting on the cold dungeon floor, alone, waiting for class to start.<p>

He almost never actually made the trek to class with his friends anymore. Breakfast being an event that usually had him barging out early as of late.

The walk to class through the dungeons had become a bit surreal. He had just left them no more than two hours before, quietly creeping back to his dorms under his cloak. The way back to the Potions classroom, though, always had a few students, stragglers, early birds and Slytherins who had slept in, hanging around. Talking, laughing and existing.

Harry would make the trip by himself. He had been alone more often than not lately. Ron and Hermione had their own little world, Neville had his own life, Luna spent more time with Ginny, her fellow Ravenclaws and, surprisingly, Neville nowadays, and everyone else was content in leaving the "Savior of the Wizarding World" to his own devices. It figured that the one year he would have given anything for people to talk with him would be the year they all got the hint.

Since the war, everyone treated him as some sort of hero. "Savior of the Wizarding World" being the most popular title. As such, they liked to keep a wide berth, supposedly to allow him to live out his life in peace or whatever. Harry, no matter how wonderful the thought of a normal life in peace sounded to him, still thought it was a load of hippogriff excrement.

Not a single one of them ever asked his opinion. No one thought to find out how much he hated and loathed the very thought of them calling him a hero when all he did was cause more pain and more death. Wherever he went, death would follow.

He never spoke about the war. Never of his own accord. He would add tidbits when Ron would tell the "triumphant" stories, humor Hermione taking him down memory lane to try and get him to cope with things, and talk about trivial details with members of the Order or the DA (what was left of the two groups, anyway), but other than that… nothing. He would never speak of anything of consequence.

The events of the forest were only ever divulged once, to Ron and Hermione the night after the war. He had had a wonderful nap in his four-poster (his last nightmare-less dream before Snape happened), had Kreacher make him some dinner when he awoke, and told his anxiously awaiting best friends everything.

Almost everything. The details of how he used the Resurrection Stone, his parents, and his conversation with Dumbledore when he "died" were left out. Some things were just too revealing to say out loud.

Hermione asked him exactly once, a week after the rebuilding of Hogwarts had begun, what had happened to the snitch Dumbledore had given him. Harry looked her in the eye, said, "I lost it in the forest," and then went to help finalize the list of names of the fallen for the war.

She hadn't asked him about the snitch since. Or anything else about the time he spent alone that day.

Harry settled into his usual spot on the cold floor. Seventh stone from the door, leaning against the wall, just close enough to the class to be there yet far enough away to run if the usual chaos that followed him ever occurred.

He thought about how he had yet to really talk through the war. Part of him knew it attributed to his nightmares, what with the latent trauma and all that other shit Hermione would cram down his throat about how he needs to open up or it will all just get worse. Even so, he could never make himself tell anyone the truth.

_It was all my fault._

Harry dozed off without even realizing it.

He was on the cusp of dreaming, seeing himself just beginning to wander through the gravestones- and was rudely awakened by a shoe smacking into his shin.

"Oi, you're snoring."

"Says the guy whose snores could wake the dead." He looked up to see Ron's face. _It has been such a good morning, too…_

"Whatever. I just came to ask you a question."

"Did your wonderful girlfriend send you on this quest, or are you actually doing something of your own free will?" He was being a bit too spiteful toward his best friend, but he could sense reparations in the near future so wanted to get in as many punches as he could before the match was called off.

"Hermione doesn't know I'm here. She should, though. I think she'll want to know why you're lying to her." Ron watched his face for reaction, steeled and resolute.

Harry had to admit, Ron was a damn good boyfriend, despite Hermione refusing to allow him to protect her. She would probably lecture him to death if she ever found out how much he looks out for her without her knowledge. Harry was pretty sure she knew, though, and just secretly loved it enough to let it go.

"What am I lying about this time?"

"You haven't been sleeping."

"Look, I don't know what you're talking about. I _have_ been sleeping, through the night and very soundly, for weeks now-"

"Weeks? Every night? Even last night?"

"Yes, even last night- what are you on about?"

"You know, Harry, it's odd how you slept so well last night. It's quite the miracle seeing as how you were never actually in your bed." Ron knew he caught him when Harry froze. He had never planned a cover for being caught out of bed, had honestly never thought his being caught would have happened, to be honest, at least not this soon… "Or am I wrong?"

"You're not… wrong. You're not right, either."

"You sound like Hermione, never a simple bloody answer." Ron joined Harry on the floor with a sigh, sliding down the wall and landing with a small thunk, "Look, I just want you to tell me the damn truth for once. You weren't in your bed last night. I know this for a fact. You probably didn't notice, but I wasn't in the Common Room last night until, well, this morning. With the shit about you and Malfoy and Hermione riding me about my doing my damn homework, everything just kept making me more and more angry. Seeing you sitting there, being Harry in the dorm didn't help shit. I had to walk off all the anger before running into you again or I would've just made things worse, ya know? Like usual. I did what Hermione is always nagging at me to do and thought everything out-"

"Can I get the end of this story sometime this year, please?"

Ron's ears turned pinkish, but he looked nonplussed, "When I finally came upstairs to suck it up and apologize, all I saw in your bed was blankets and a pillow. No Harry."

Harry didn't know what to reply. His anger at Ron had run its course and replaced itself with the old feelings of friendship. The usual, underlying annoyance was still there, but none of the rekindled flames of betrayal.

_He came to apologize? Of his own free will? Who is this guy?_

"I may have smacked your pillow a few times to make sure you weren't actually there, just under your Invisibility Cloak. Purely conducting a thorough search, of course." _Ah, now there's the Ron I know and love._

Harry knew he couldn't tell Ron the truth, as much as he would have loved to. Ron was definitely not the type to take his sleeping with Snape, well, calmly. He didn't want to have to lie to his friend but, in the end, his need to stay in one piece won out. He decided to lie, for that _always_ worked so well for him…

He told Ron that last night he didn't actually sleep at all. He just wandered the halls trying to muster up some exhaustion. "I just had a lot on my mind, more than usual, ya know?"

Ron's ears turned red, though Harry couldn't think why, "Yeah, I know. I also know that was my fault. I _am_ sorry, mate. I shouldn't have blown up at you like that. You can make your own decisions, my opinion isn't important. What's important is that I trust that you make the right decisions every now and again."

_Wow, Lying 1, Honesty 0._ "'Every now and again'?"

Ron rolled his eyes, "That's all the leeway you'll get, ya prat. I've known you too long."

He smirked, knowing his friend was right. … to a certain degree. "Well, now that that's settled, are we okay? Back to normal?"

"Definitely."

Harry smiled, bracing himself against the wall to stand up. "Good. Now we only have to tell Hermione so she'll stop ignoring you."

Ron laughed, bouncing to his feet with little to no effort, "She does do that, doesn't she? I swear, I never know I've done something wrong until she stops talking to me! Can't wait to see if this'll last through marriage. And children! Can you imagine?"

Harry stretched his legs, they had started to fall asleep while he was on the floor, and replied, "Perfectly. 'Mommy, why aren't you talking to Daddy?' 'Well, dear, because he's a big, selfish prat. Now eat your peas.' Oh, and can you imagine what the little combinations of you and Hermione will be like?" Ron shuddered, looking horrified, "Honestly, I can't wait to see how you handle your hypothetical children."

"Well, if anything this is good practice. If we can handle you and your 'Blast-Ended Skrewt' moods, Harry, we can definitely handle a little Granger-Weasley." Ron chortled.

Just as Harry was about to reply with something that most definitely would have refueled the recently tamped down Flames of Mutual Anger, the rest of the Gryffindors in the class came tromping loudly from around the corner.

Moment to snap at Ron: Dead.

Harry really wished he would just drop the whole "Harry seems like their child" thing. It was more annoying than Harry wanted to admit. And for reasons he wanted to admit even less.

* * *

><p>"Mr. Potter, <em>what <em>is it you think you are doing?"

Harry's hand froze mid-stir. "I _thought_ I was brewing a potion, Professor." He sighed, things were apparently going to stay just as they were.

These were the first two real sentences they had spoken to one another in public since they started sharing a bed nightly, and they were insulting and sarcastic.

_So much for thinking Snape would change because of one little 'thank you.'_

"Yes, I am sure you did. You, however, thought incorrectly. As usual. Now, if you could tell me the amount of clockwise stirs, _precisely,_ are called for in this potion?" Snape's black eyes bored down on Harry, always managing to make him feel like a toddler getting caught in the act of coloring all over the walls.

That is, unaware he was even doing anything wrong to begin with and therefore unable to fix it before getting into trouble.

The class had gone the sort of silent Harry knew well. Everyone was still working, yet doing everything in their power to not make enough noise to where they couldn't overhear every sound coming out of Potter and Snape's mouths.

Harry ignored the fact that he could hear everyone's cauldrons bubbling as he reread the directions.

"Um, 28, sir?" Harry squinted at the writing on the board, direction number 8 appeared to say "Stir clockwise precisely 28 times" in tight, precise handwriting.

Honestly, the longer Harry stared at Snape's handwriting the more he wondered how he hadn't at least recognized the writing style in the Half-Blood Prince's Potions Book. In hindsight, teenaged Snape was just as much of a witty asshole as adult Snape.

Just less distinguished.

Snape's mouth slowly lowered into a grimace, "Answered not only as a question, but incorrectly. It would appear you are not only inept at the art of Potions, but also at the simple task of reading an equally straightforward direction. _27_ stirs are called for in this potion, Potter."

Harry looked down at his hand, still frozen mid-stir. Just beginning the 28th stir.

"Oh." It was all the response Harry could muster. To his defense, it wasn't his fault that even Snape's magically conjured handwriting was, at times, almost illegible.

Snape lowered his voice so only Harry could hear it, "One more stir and your potion would have ended up partially blowing up yourself and Mr. Weasley."

Harry's eyes widened in understanding. Snape had just helped him keep from exploding a potion. Snape had just _helped_ him.

With his knowledge.

_I guess things really are changing. _

Snape raised his voice back to normal scolding levels, "As the potion you are currently dealing with is highly volatile, and one false move can create catastrophe, next time take care to actually read the directions thoroughly before your Gryffindor incompetence sends you running headfirst into a room in St. Mungo's." He then swooped around, cloak only billowing a tad due to the amount of potions within harms way, and began walking back toward the front of the classroom.

_Wow, let off without so much as a loss of house points? _he thought, _Who would have thought Snape could be nice?_

"Oh, and Potter." Snape turned, sneering. "15 points from Gryffindor for not being capable of so much as reading directions."

_Then again, maybe not._

Harry couldn't stop himself; it was too deeply ingrained into his personality. He had to push back. "It was one stir, Snape-"

"'_Professor_ Snape,' and one stir can be the difference between alive and dead in the Potions world, Potter."

"I am aware, _Snape_, but come on-"

"Care to make it 30 points, Potter?"

Harry's retort died in his throat as he felt rather than saw the glares his fellow Gryffindors were sending him.

Instead, he grumbled under his breath, just loud enough for Snape to hear, and others to know he spoke but not what it was, "Alright, alright. Keep your shirt on." Harry smirked. It was a low blow, and one that took a hell of a lot of cajones to deliver, but it was worth it. Snape whipped around, nostrils flared, cheeks tinged with the slightest touch of red. He looked out for blood.

"Detention, Potter. Tonight."

"Detention, what for? I didn't do anything-"

"A week's worth of detentions, Potter-"

"That's ridiculous, Snape-"

"Care to make it a month?" Snape had stalked until he was almost face to face with Harry, his hooked nose almost touching Harry's rather unremarkable nose.

"Shut it, Harry. We have a match coming next week." Ron whispered frantically into Harry's ear.

So Harry did just that. He exhaled and sat down in his chair.

Snape's mouth twitched oddly as he turned triumphantly and resumed his stalking around the room.

_Damn, _Harry thought_, I just know we're going to go to bed angry tonight._

* * *

><p><em>What the hell is wrong with you, Severus?<em>

He sat in his classroom after the Gryffindors and Slytherins cleared out, huffing and puffing as he graded essays. Or, would have been grading essays if he could have actually gotten his mind to focus on anything but that damned Potter.

He had helped him. Regardless of whether it was to save the brat's life, he had helped him.

In front of the class.

In front of Weasley.

In front of Potter!

Snape growled, scooping up the essays and roughly depositing them in the drawer of his desk. He didn't want to look at anything that involved his classes at that moment.

A feat made rather difficult by the fact that he was sitting _in his classroom_.

Feeling that the entire world was simply plotting his downfall, Snape stalked out of the room and kept stalking forward, hoping to eventually stumble upon somewhere that didn't have students or cauldrons.

He eventually ended up in his quarters, his feet leading him home like they were magnetized. He snarled his password without a thought, reveling in his own brilliance for having set it as his password to begin with. It was an effortless one to remember and just damned wonderful to have an excuse to growl out every so often.

"Bloody Gryffindors," he snarled again for his own sake as he opened his door, the wards and locks allowing him in without so much as a blink. He absently thought whether he should add Potter to the wards so he wouldn't have to actually let him in every night in the event their set up became permanent before mentally slapping himself in the face for ever even entertaining the thought!

Angrily throwing himself into his beloved armchair, he huffed exasperatedly and stared at his stone floor.

There was more that irritated him about the events of his class than simply the fact that he saved Potter's arse for the millionth time. This was what was honestly bothering him.

He and Potter had slipped so easily back into their old ways. Snarling and spitting at one another, Potter faking outrage for having outright challenged him and Severus matching him in vehemence, yet trumping him in menace. They fought like professionals, no gloves, just words.

Potter had that fire in his eyes Snape had previously thought to be petulance but now recognized as determination.

Potter was the one he could push who would push back with no prodding. It was almost sport to them.

Snape couldn't deny it, no matter how hard he tried.

He loved every second of it.

Arguing with Potter used to be the thing that kept him going, proving the brat to be as insolent and idiotic as he had expected him to be. Giving him a chance to be as truly acidic and vile as he loved to be, Potter's responses always just fueling that fire.

He found himself honestly missing the arguments in the past few weeks. However insane a thought it was, arguing with Potter was… exhilarating.

Snape once again cursed the name Potter, stalking out of his chair and picking back up his new habit of pacing.

What is it with Potter inducing the urge to pace in others, Snape thought, pivoting precisely on his heel and taking another lap around his pacing track.

He ignored the feeling of normalcy he had felt in his classroom. The feeling of what could almost be equated to peace as he looked into Potter's fiery yet complacent eyes. The smile he had to fight when he had won.

Ignorance is bliss.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Harry. Could I, um, talk to you for a minute?"<p>

Harry turned around to see the owner of the voice, that all too familiar voice. A year ago she was the woman he had expected to spend his life with. Several months ago, she became the woman he knew he didn't deserve, and who didn't deserve to be with someone who couldn't give her what she needed.

"Yeah, sure." Ron's befuddled look followed Harry as he abandoned their game of chess (two moves before Ron would, inevitably, Checkmate Harry), and walk off with the Redhead's sister.

Harry followed Ginny, winding through classmates and out of the portrait-hole.

Almost every eye in the Common Room followed them on their way. Some were curious and others, the few who were well aware of their former relationship and its abrupt end, astounded to see them together.

Experiencing déjà vu of the grandest variety, Harry ambled through the halls with a silent Ginny until they found a place in the castle with no other students to overhear.

_Didn't this just happen?_

"So…" Ginny stood there, awkwardly, not really sure where to begin.

"So?" Harry had no more idea of where to begin than Ginny did.

After all that happened between them in the past few years, what exactly does one say when having an actual conversation for the first time since breaking up?

Ginny steeled herself, embodying the Weasley determination that makes her, well, Ginny, and looked Harry dead in the eye, "I need to talk to you about yesterday."

_Ah, that makes a lot of sense._ "What about yesterday? It was a rather long day, lots of things happened-"

She smacked his arm, grinning, "You know full well what. Draco passed along your little message. Nice way of letting us know you knew, by the way. You about gave the poor guy a heart attack."

"What can I say? Shocking and scaring Draco Malfoy is and shall forever be ingrained into my very being. We may be on friendly terms, but old habits die hard."

"About those friendly terms…" Ginny suddenly became very interested in a stray lock of her hair, seeming to be counting each strand, "Um, I just wanted to say, ya know, for agreeing to forgive Draco and not telling anyone else so far about me and him, thank y-"

_Oh, now this is just ridiculous._ "No, stop right there. Merlin, the next time a person thanks me for something I don't deserve thanks of any kind for, I am going to snap."

Ginny just smiled at him. "You never do change, do you?"

_More than you can ever be allowed to know, Gin._

"Only when it's important."

"And this is. Draco has been worrying about how to talk to you ever since you saved him that day. He came out of the Room of Requirement a changed man. One that I am most definitely not ashamed to be dating." She held her head high, true Gryffindor pride shining from behind the freckles.

"I don't know what gave you the impression I thought you were ashamed to date him, but I definitely didn't mean-"

"No! No, it wasn't something you said. It's just… You've got to be wondering why I haven't told anyone."

"Your brothers would kill him while your Father dug the grave and your Mother pretended to not know what was going on."

"I- Um, yeah. Pretty much." She started pacing, throwing the lock of hair back to join its brothers. "It's pathetic, being afraid to tell my family. If he was anyone else I wouldn't care, I'd let them disown me or never speak to me again if they didn't like it. But since it's Draco Malfoy of all people… Ron would have a coronary."

"I know you Weasleys, Ginny. It's understandable to think that. Though, given a little time, and a complete reworking of Ron's personality, he could be accepted into the family. By the brothers, at least. Your mother has to be handled carefully…"

"Exactly." She stopped her pacing, looking him dead in the eye, saying in as serious a tone as Ginevra Weasley was capable, "You have to swear to not tell anyone until I do. Not even the smallest hint, Harry. You know how everyone is. I'm terrified to tell them now, I don't even want to know what they'll do if they find out from someone who isn't me, especially a stranger-"

"Ginny," Harry took her hand in his, making her focus on him, "I swear I won't mention anything about you and him to anyone. Not even a hint or a whisper. You have my word."

Ginny searched his eyes for something, Harry didn't know what. After a few seconds, she nodded once. "Okay. I trust you. In any case, it'll be nice to have someone else to talk to about this who isn't Draco- if you're okay with it, that is. I mean, if it's weird for you or anything I totally understand-"

"Ginny. Shut up. I don't mind being your coconspirator in this, so long as when it does come out, your mother never knows I knew. Then _I'll_ wind up being the one buried in the garden with the gnomes." Harry laughed to make sure Ginny knew he was joking, if only slightly.

Honestly, he did not want to be on Molly Weasley's bad side.

Whatever it was Ginny was going to say was stifled when a group of fourth year Ravenclaws came giggling around the corner. At the sound of their approach, Harry dropped Ginny's hand like it was on fire, right as she flew away from him like he was on fire, and they tried not to look guilty.

The Ravenclaws stopped dead when they realized who was in the hallway, and looked from Harry to Ginny a few times before Ginny said, "Okay, then, um, I will talk with you later," and ran the opposite direction.

Harry took the long way back to the Common Room, the sound of the Ravenclaws giggles ringing in his ears the entire time.

Why can't my life be normal? Two seconds, that's all I ask…

* * *

><p>"Close the door, Potter. The sooner we get this detention over with, the sooner I can get some actual work done for once." Snape looked over his hooked nose at the gangly teenager standing in the doorway. Potter looked like he expected to be force-fed poison.<p>

Granted, it _was_ their first post-sleeping arrangements detention together. Perhaps the boy's trepidation was warranted.

"Don't look so frightened, Potter. You're not sampling First Years' potions- at least not today." Snape grinned maliciously at Potter's look of shock. "There's your pile of cauldrons. I expect them to be spotless, Potter. Oh, and I almost forgot." Snape flicked his wand a few times, making a bucket full of water, a sponge and a rag appear at Potter's feet. "You are to clean them the muggle way. A little elbow grease never hurt anyone."

Potter still looked at the cauldrons like they were going to explode. "What were they used to brew?"

"Potions."

Potter scoffed at his dry remark, "No, I mean recently."

Snape rolled his eyes and returned to grading essays. "Nothing toxic, I assure you. Besides, the contents should have been vanished entirely. If a bit slipped through by an act of mediocre spellcasting then it is none of my concern and as such I am not responsible. Now, clean, Potter. Let's not have this take all night."

Surprisingly, Potter just sighed and set off to work. He didn't so much as lodge another complaint for the next hour. He just sat there, scrubbing the inside and outside of every cauldron. He would wipe his brow every now and again, stand up to undo the crick in his back from having to scrub on the floor (otherwise he'd just have to wash the table, too, and Snape always figured the stone had had much worse than soapy water on it over the years) but not complain.

Not that Snape was watching him intently or anything. Simply becoming so enraged and maddened by the essays he was grading that he needed a distraction every now and again. Watching Potter slave away during a punishment was always a fun sight.

So, he glanced over every now and again to see how the Boy Who Lived was doing. It was better than his reading material.

By hour two, Snape had read one too many terrible essays. He growled loudly enough to hear it echo around the room, throwing an essay vehemently across his desk. "It's amazing that some of these students can walk and breathe at the same time! They certainly can't identify a single potion ingredient correctly or spell or even _appear _to have a rudimentary knowledge of what grammar is! If this is the future of the Wizarding World, I'm retiring right now and moving to the Arctic."

Snape didn't realize he was yelling audibly until he heard the insistent, impudent voice of the Chose One carry across the empty room.

"Quick, someone warn the penguins!"

Snape gave a sarcastic chuckle, "Very funny, Potter. A perfect example of your generation's lack of wit and inability to learn anything at this school-"

"Well, you can't really blame us," Potter snapped from over his cauldron, tossing a sponge into newly blackened water, the edge of the resulting splash diving over the edge of the bucket. "A war isn't exactly the best environment in which to learn anything, Snape. Being afraid every moment, never knowing if you'll live or die, if your friends and family will be there the next day- you should be happy most of them can still _write_ with what they've lived through in the past few years. Particularly while most of them were at 'school.'"

"Living through or even being on the front lines of a war is not an excuse for idiocy, Potter. If anything it shows lack of determination and focus. What do you think all of the individuals of my year lived through? The unicorn invasion of flowers, puppies and rainbows?" Snape grumbled as Potter's face lit with understanding.

"Oh, right- Well- I didn't mean, well, yeah. You all lived through it and you made it out alive and intelligent. For some it just took a while. This generation actually missed one to several years of actual curriculum due to staffing changes and the castle crumbling to pieces. Remember my second year? We didn't even have exams! So you can't exactly compare us to your generation. Yours were still able to get actual schooling and grew up to became aurors, healers and, like you and Remus, get the _flashiest _jobs in all of the Wizarding World." Snape stared at him blankly, waiting for the punchline. " Professors at Hogwarts School," he elaborated.

"Potter. I do believe you misspoke. When you said 'flashiest' you obviously meant 'dullest and most soul-crushing for ration between the amount of input versus output' and 'Professors' was glaringly incorrect. You meant 'Babysitters.'"

Potter laughed into the cauldron, the sound echoing rather nicely. "Well, at least for the first few years, yeah. First through third, if that. We Seventh Years, though, we've got it together. It's not like you have to watch our every tiny movement or we try to blow something up- Oh. Right." Potter's smile was entirely self-deprecating, as was the humor. Snape found himself smiling along despite himself.

And that's how Harry Potter and Severus Snape carried on an honest to Merlin conversation. Without murdering one another.

They were talking, what could almost be referred to as "getting along," for hours. Eventually they even lost track of time. It was eleven o'clock by the time Snape absent-mindedly looked over at his clock, only to be astonished by how late it had become.

"As much as I hate to end a detention before the student begins to bleed, I am afraid you are to be excused for the night." Potter looked lost for a second. He had wandered toward the front of the class during their talk, and was sitting on the table in front of Snape's desk. He turned around to see the pile of cauldrons that had been abandoned somewhere during their recapping of Lockheart's more ridiculous statements and faux pas, and remembered that he was, in fact, in a detention. "Good thing you'll be back tomorrow to finish the job. No thinking you can get away with being so much as a second late, Potter. You'll have much more to do tomorrow."

Potter hopped off the table, smiling. "Will do, Professor." Potter vanished the bucket and sponge, levitated the clean cauldrons back where they belonged and picked up his bag, all with a lack of his by then usual lethargy or insolence. "Well, um… I guess there's nothing left to say but, 'Sleep well, Snape.'"

With that, the prat went running out the door and, presumably, to the Gryffindor Common Room to go and do whatever it was he usually did before returning to the dungeons to be with Snape- To sleep in Snape's bed- _To rest in Snape's quarters!_

Snape mentally berated himself and the Gryffindor as he, too, packed everything up and began the walk back to his quarters. It was really more of a saunter than a walk. His steps were lighter, and he only took away 30 House Points from Hufflepuff (each) when he found two out of bed well past curfew, sneaking into a broom closet.

Snape pondered on the obnoxious amount of cupboards they had in Hogwarts. It was like the founders built the castle with the actual intent of giving the students brave/stupid enough to sneak out of their rooms at night a place to snog and otherwise canoodle.

Snape was in front of his own door before he knew it. He mechanically stated his password and waltzed in with a flourish of robes that wasn't entirely necessary but he liked doing it so that was all that mattered.

Snape began getting ready for bed, changed into his pajamas (rather pointedly putting on his shirt first) and settled in next to his fire with a nice cup of tea. It had been a while since he had simply relaxed, but there he was. Sitting next to the fire, sitting up tall and straight in his armchair, pouring himself a cup of Earl Grey.

_Nothing like a nice reward for a long day's work,_ he thought, raising his tea to his lips, lightly blowing the steam from the cup.

He almost choked on his tea when he realized a moment later that he had not, in fact, done a long day's work. He barely got any work done that night.

On his desk, he knew, there was still a large stack of essays full of errors and other horrifying things, waiting to be graded.

He had stopped working after he started talking with Potter. Well, less talking and more reminiscing on old times. Telling stories of the past failures of Defense teachers, Potter telling Snape about the time Granger had slapped Draco Malfoy across the face (which he couldn't seem to make himself be angry toward the girl for, his Godson was a selfish prat and probably deserved it) among other things. The conversation just… flew.

He had to admit, however begrudgingly, Potter was much easier to talk with than he would have initially thought. Once he got past the fact that it was Potter he was talking with.

_Hmm, _he thought_, detentions really are the most useful form of punishment._ He would have to tell Filch he had finally proved his hypothesis.

Though, with none of the details, of course.

He wondered how things had gone so astray without his realizing it. First helping Potter, then talking with him in a manner that didn't involve threats or raising their voices.

_My day started out so well, too…_

* * *

><p>Harry couldn't really believe that had just happened. He had to run in order to make it back to the Common Room before Ron and Hermione went to bed.<p>

Though, apparently it was also before they had the chance to bust down the Potions Room door. Harry found this out as he flumped down on a chair in the Common Room, empty but for the three usuals.

"Good thing you showed up when you did, Harry," Hermione seemed a bit frazzled, five different scrolls of parchment with what looked like Ancient Runes on them and a small replica of the planet Earth were strewn at her feet. Study time was _all the time_ with Hermione. "I've been holding Ron back from rescuing you all night. He's been certain Snape was torturing you and that's why your detention went on for so long."

Ron's entire face turned the color of the scarlet chair on which he was lounging, "No, she hasn't. She's over exaggerating. I just said a few times that the slimy bastard must be torturing you. You've been gone for over five hours, Harry-"

"Any longer and he was threatening to call out a search party," Hermione stated simply, going back to her homework now that the crisis was averted.

Harry had to remind himself that he was dealing with a post-reconciliation Ron. He tended to overdo it for a while before going back to his normal, asinine self. Also known as the Ron he knew and loved. Most of the time.

"No search party necessary, guys. I was on cauldron washing duty, that's all. Took me forever." Harry pretended to look winded and exhausted, when in fact he felt exactly the opposite.

He couldn't wait to go to sleep that night. He felt properly tired and serene.

He ignored, once again, that it was because of something Snape did.

Their talk, it was… simple. Nothing of importance, just reminiscing. Harry liked that. Snape didn't want anything from him, in fact wanted him nowhere near him, let alone to be his, he shuddered at the thought… _Friend._

It was like his talk with Draco. Something just out of the ordinary enough to be weird, yet notable enough to be necessary.

That night, when he said good night to his friends and went upstairs to bed, Ron joining him so he wouldn't have to put up with Hermione's fussy studying anymore, it was with a new vigor.

As the sounds of Neville Longbottom's snores filled the room, Harry threw his cloak around himself and smiled.

_Tonight was such a good night, too._

* * *

><p>AN: And we're back!<p>

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Some more character bits, Ron being not so much of an ass, and a bit of a furthering of Harry and Snape's blossoming, dare I say it? _Friendship?_

Remember, he still has an entire week of detentions to look forward to. :)

Feel free to review and tell me how wonderful/terrible you found this chapter to be. I shall devour every word like the sweet, sweet nectar of life.

I do love reading your feedback, particularly when it's nice and constructive. :D

Till next we meet,

ForeverJynxed


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